


The Book of Terrus: The Ghosts of Goran

by GreenScholar



Category: TBoT, The Book of Terrus, The Ghosts of Goran
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Copyright, Copyright Claimed, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Elemental Magic, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Fantasy, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, M/M, Magic, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Originally Posted Elsewhere, POC cast, Protective Siblings, Siblings, Worldbuilding, wattpad, woc protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenScholar/pseuds/GreenScholar
Summary: The land of Goran has been ruled for nearly a thousand years by the mighty Amenthis dynasty. However, a fatal fracturing has begun.Beyond the capital, newlywed pearl diver Vinie kindles the spark of rebellion from the ashes of her life, while outcast nobleman Jatheryn tries desperately to find his own path. Their stories of hope and bravery will become the legends of a new world...Volume 1 of 'The Book of Terrus' series.(Originally posted on Wattpad under 'GreenScholar Tales'. Copyright claimed.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. The Secret

* * *

A secret changed the world. It was nothing as grand as a covert political alliance, nor so insidious as a plot to commit murder. The nation of Goran had more than enough history behind its royal house to render such things mere footnotes in time. This was a family secret, conceived on a fresh spring night as the nightingales sang in the gardens of Vaelona.

Vaelona was, and still is, widely considered to be the crown jewel of culture in the west. Its pristine streets, ornate architecture, and affluent populace made it a haven for those of refined tastes. Here the nobility reigned supreme, second only to the might of the ruling Amenthis dynasty itself, far away in Amenthere, the capital of Goran. Most notable and influential among all the noble families were the Tremaris, Iralar, and Saurivic families. To bear the heraldry and name of one of Vaelona’s premier three families was to have the world at your .

Some matters, however, give no consideration to wealth or class. Rosarin Saurivic was dying. All of the Saurivic family’s wealth and status had proven useless to save the wife of its scion. Healer after healer had been sent for over the past several weeks. Not a one succeeded in stemming the pooling of fluid in Rosarin’s lungs. Her gasping coughs filled every corner of the estate. Even the crickets in the hedges fell silent, overshadowed as sorrow descended upon the Saurivic estate.

Through a windowsill framed by flowering ivy, Jahaelis, Rosarin’s husband and the eldest child of Lord Jalborn Saurivic, paced the sickroom in anxious circles. His usually well-groomed brown hair jutted up at odd angles where he had shoved his hands through it. Dark stubble shadowed his pointed chin and high cheekbones. The velvet waistcoat and vest Jahaelis wore were the same he had slept in the night before. 

“Useless, they’re all useless!” Jahaelis exclaimed, the panic ringing clear in his voice. “Father, I thought you said the last healer came recommended from Castle Armathain itself?”

“They did.”

Jalborn Saurivic sat in a large green armchair, directly facing the bed where his languished. Even as he aged, the head of the Saurivic family remained tall and hale. His clear brown eyes watched Jahaelis pace overtop of laced fingers, their sharp focus in defiance of his cloud-white hair and brows.

“Then what are we to do?” Jahaelis exploded, his cry ringing off of the gilded ceiling. “Father, I can’t just stand here and watch her die. I won’t!”

“What you won’t do is help with all of your shouting,” Tyene Saurivic said crossly from her place at the bedside.

All dark colors and sharp angles, like her brother, Tyene was usually the voice of practicality. The tight sleeves of her heavily embroidered gown were turned up to the elbows, badly crushing the delicate fabric and leaving red marks on Tyene’s skin. Frowning, she dabbed at Rosarin’s fevered brow for the thousandth time with a damp cloth. “She’s still coughing up foam.”

“Jahaelis.” Jalborn sighed, an unusual show of fatigue from the old nobleman. They had been up with Rosarin all day and all the night before. “You heard the healer; she has water in her lungs. There is nothing we can do to save a person from drowning from within.”

A sudden sharp gasp stole everyone’s attention as Rosarin jerked on the bed. Jahaelis came to his wife’s aide quicker than a thought. Together with Tyene, they rolled their charge onto her side to clear her airways.

Dark golden hair clinging to her forehead in damp locks, Rosarin’s thin, bony frame shook with coughs. The silken nightgown she wore was stained with sweat, as were the sheets. Dark circles like smudges of ash stood out against the grey of her cheeks. Even Jahaelis’s croons of encouragement brought no spark to her contorted face.

When finally the fit subsided, Jahaelis and Tyene carefully lowered Rosarin back to rest. The fact that they were even caring for the stricken woman themselves was a grim testament to her condition. In Goran, it was believed that only family must handle the dying. For strangers to attend to a person in their final moments was the gravest act of abandonment and neglect. Tyene had insisted that the servants be dismissed from Rosarin’s care after she started coughing up blood. Jahaelis would have fought his sister harder on her pessimism if he hadn’t wanted so badly to be at his wife’s side.

“I won’t let her die.”

Jahaelis’s face was set, determined. He stared down at Rosarin with an almost fanatic intensity that smoldered in his dark eyes like burning coals.

“People die,” Tyene snapped at her brother. “Even people as young and beautiful as Rosarin.”

“I won’t let her die,” Jahaelis repeated.

“Healers can only do so much, Jahaelis.” Jalborn stood, preparing to handle an outburst if need be. He faced his firstborn with soothing caution, as one would a wounded animal. “They cannot perform miracles.”

At the last word, Jahaelis looked at his father strangely. For a moment Tyene worried he might even strike Jalborn. Then Jahaelis abruptly turned and rushed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Tyene called out after him.

Jahaelis did not pause or look back. He rushed down the marble steps toward the foyer so quickly his feet nearly slipped. The only thing on his mind was the rumor he had heard earlier in the week from a city archivist.

“To find a miracle.”

* * *

Tomur, a Blue Obad of Goran, and servant to King Mahaedron of the Amenthis dynasty, stood patiently awaiting his librarian guide. His salt-and-pepper beard rose and fell as he lapsed into a familiar breathing meditation to pass the time. The long azure robes that marked him out as an elemental sorcerer were slightly too hot for such a beautiful May evening. Tomur never even considered the desire for lighter garments though. The robes of an Obad were his second skin after more than thirty years in Goran’s Magicol.

The Library of Vaelona was one of the greatest national treasures of Goran. Even Castle Armathain at Amenthere could not rival the Vaelonese trove for its wealth of handwritten, original documents. The constitution of Goran itself was here, penned by King Amenthis’s own hand. Within its rows upon rows of curved cherry wood shelves, spreading out from the central rotunda like ripples, the Library of Vaelona preserved nearly the entire history of the nation.

That was why Tomur was here. King Mahaedron had dispatched the sorcerer to Vaelona in search of very particular records which had to do with the Magicol itself. Tomur had been stunned when the document in question was not to be found within the Magicol’s own formidable library. A further search of the castle archives had turned up nothing.

At last, defeated, High Obad Lirien had been forced to send Tomur out to Vaelona in search of the records. Lirien and Maheadron had both hinted at the contents of the documents to Tomur before he left. If what the king and the High Obad implied were true, it could have dramatic consequences for the future of their kind at the right hand of the throne.

Now, waiting for the rather fidgety librarian who was to be his assistant to return, Tomur attempted to contain his uncertainties. Casting his eyes to the library ceiling, he marveled at the beauty of the paintings across the great dome. First King Amenthis was there, as were his noble ‘siblings’, Aryna and Anders. The three were depicted in exquisite detail, gold paint lining their clothes and eyes. Before them, the great serpents, giants, wraiths, and dragons of old were scattered.

It was the Amenthis Three who led humans to rise up and conquer the land, making Goran safe for civilization to spread. The documents Tomur sought might just reveal a missing piece to the founding tale. The record in question had been written by Taebor Saurivic, youngest (and illegitimate) son of First King Amenthis, hundreds of years ago upon the eve of his father’s first victory. If it was not in the library at Castle Armathain, then perhaps Taebor had brought the document here with him to Vaelona, the city that he himself founded.

The quiet hum of the library was abruptly shattered when the main doors behind Tomur flung open. Two guards rushed forward from their alcoves on either side of the entrance to accost the intruder. It was a lone man, wearing fine clothes and a look of desperation.

“Obad, help me!” the man cried, rushing straight at Tomur.

The library guards tried to catch hold of the nobleman’s arms to pull him back from the startled sorcerer. Before they could lay a hand on him though, he threw himself to his knees at Tomur’s feet.

“Please, I beg you to help me.”

Tomur’s memory prickled, and he recognized Jahaelis Saurivic, eldest child and heir of old Jalborn. The Saurivic family was one of the wealthiest and most powerful in Vaelona, and its members often made appearances at court in Amenthere. For Jahaelis to humble himself like this in public was quite beyond imagining.

“Lord Jahaelis, you are causing a scene. If you will please let us escort you to-” of the guards tried to put a hand on Jahaelis’s shoulder. Jahaelis rounded on the man and drew back as if to strike. Tomur caught Jahaelis’s wrist just in time to prevent violence.

“I can see that this is a matter of some urgency. If you will excuse me…” Tomur nodded to the librarian, who had finally come scuttling back. “…I will return after speaking to Lord Jahaelis outside.”

Leaving the perplexed library patrons and staff inside, Tomur guided Jahaelis out with a firm grip on his upper arm. The night air greeted them with the scent of peonies and perfume. Tomur continued to walk until they were a safe distance from the library doors. The light of a stained-glass lantern, surrounded by fluttering moths, cast blue and gold patterns across Jahaelis’s tight face in the dark.

“Now then, this must concern life and death itself to warrant such an entrance.”

Tomur’s light, airy tone did nothing to calm the young lord. If anything, Jahaelis only become more agitated.

“It does, Master Tomur, it truly does. My wife, Rosarin, she…” Jahaelis had to pause and swallow hard, his throat bobbing visibly. “She is dying. None of the healers we’ve sent for can do anything for her. You must help me. Help her.”

“I am very sorry for your wife’s condition.” Tomur folded his hands into his wide sleeves, settling back on his heels. “But I am no healer, not even a village High Elder or shaman. I doubt there is anything that I could do for your wife, besides offer my condolences.”

“Spirits take your condolences! My wife is drowning from within, that is what the healers told us. Her lungs are filling with water, stealing her voice, choking her breath…”

Jahaelis’s last words trailed off into a sob, and now Tomur understood why the nobleman had come searching for him. The Blue Obad glanced furtively toward the library steps before answering in a hushed murmur.

“You do not know what you are asking, Lord Jahaelis. The magic of the Obads is elemental, not meant for healing. Such a request would, without question, be rejected out of hand by the High Obad.”

Jahaelis stared hard at Tomur, the desperation in his eyes burning straight through the older man.

“You are not the High Obad, Master Tomur, and I am begging you. Please, I’ll do anything, please just try. We have no one else to turn to.”

“Death comes to us all,” Tomur said gently. “We all must take our last breath sometime, whether that be today or fifty years from now.”

Jahaelis’s face hardened into stone. “What about a child who has yet to take even their first breath? Please…Rosarin is pregnant.”

“I see.”

Tomur stood silent for a in the colored lamplight. The flickering candle cast shadows across the fine network of lines that were beginning to weather the Blue Obad’s face. Being an Obad in service to the king, Tomur had never had a family of his own flesh and blood. He had students though, and in his own way loved the young Ovates like surrogate children. Even the older, recently elevated Obads would always be wide-eyed, fresh-faced youths to Tomur.

Jahaelis was just about to give up hope when Tomur took a long, deep breath.

“Very well, Jahaelis. I will see what, if anything, my magic can do for your wife. In return though, you must do two things for me.”

“Anything.”

Tomur nodded, satisfied. “Firstly, you must permit me access to your family archives. It just so happens that what I have come to Vaelona seeking is most likely to be found within the Saurivic library. If I do find the document, you will permit me to take it back with me to Amenthere, no questions asked.”

“Of course, take whatever you like!” Jahaelis looked relieved that the first requirement should be so small and seemingly insignificant of a request. 

“Second, and far more importantly, you will never speak of my actions this night to another living soul. You and your family must all swear to utter secrecy. Tell others that your wife made a miraculous recovery, if we should be so lucky to have a positive outcome. If I ever hear so much as a whisper about magic from the Saurivic family, before I am likely thrown in prison, or worse, I will make certain that you regret this conversation forever. The same applies even if Rosarin dies.”

“I understand,” Jahaelis said solemnly. “You have my word, Master Tomur. I swear by my honor and my family name that no one shall ever know of the events of tonight, ever.”

* * *

Tyene and Jalborn both turned sharply as the door latch slid open. Rosarin’s condition had only worsened since Jahaelis’s abrupt departure, and Tyene put a hand to her heart in relief. Both she and her father had feared that Rosarin would die in Jahaelis’s absence. That relief quickly turned to confusion when Jahaelis entered the sickroom with a blue-robed Obad behind him.

“Thank the stars you came back.” Jalborn rose from his seat and put his hands on Jahaelis’s shoulders. Father and son shared a brief moment of understanding before Jalborn turned his attention to their guest. “Master Tomur. This is an unexpected honor.”

“Lord Jalborn, it has been too long. Although I wish better circumstances than these had brought me under your family’s roof tonight.”

Tomur exchanged the traditional Vaelonese greeting; pressing the pads of their index and middle fingers to their lips, and then touching their fingertips together. Jalborn was more than a decade the Blue Obad’s senior, but still loomed nearly a head above Tomur.

“Lady Tyene.” Tomur likewise greeted Tyene. She remained at Rosarin’s bedside, but nodded politely from across the room.

“Why have you come here, Master Tomur?” Tyene’s sharp brown eyes accosted her brother, demanding answers. “This is a house of sickness, and not fit for hosting guests.”

“That is precisely why Jahaelis asked me to come.”

Jalborn looked sharply at Tomur. “Is such a thing even possible?”

“I cannot say. We Obads have never dabbled in the healing arts before, at least not in recorded history. Jahaelis made a very compelling case though.” Tomur looked to the bed where Rosarin lay unconscious, her breaths short and shallow. “She could not have wished for a more devoted husband.”

“There are two conditions, Father,” Jahaelis began to explain.

Once Jalborn had acquiesced to granting Tomur unrestricted access to the family archives, and vows of silence had been extracted from both him and Tyene, Tomur assessed his task. He could hear the watery gurgle behind each of Rosarin’s labored gasps. _Poor thing,_ he clucked to himself. Small wonder for Jahaelis’s desperation; this really was the end for both mother and unborn child if nothing were to be done.

Jahaelis, Tyene, and Jalborn sat across the room, their eyes fastened on Tomur as he circled the bed. No one spoke. The whites of Jahaelis’s knuckles showed clearly as he clenched the carven arms of his chair. The candlelight flickered, casting Rosarin’s face into shadows. Was that the outlines of a skull’s grimace Tomur saw, lurking just beneath the noblewoman’s lovely visage?

There was no time for further stalling. If Tomur was to act, it must be now. Ignoring the prickling of his conscience telling him that this was wrong, Tomur took a deep breath and let his eyelids flutter shut. In mere moments, the experienced Obad fell deep into the trance used by all Obads for spell casting. They learned its technique from a young age, as well as its necessity. But had it always been so? The document Tomur sought here in Vaelona might say otherwise. What that would mean for Goran’s Magicol, Tomur did not know. Such knowledge could either free the Obads, or unleash them on an unsuspecting world.

Holding out his hands palms down over Rosarin’s prone body, Tomur began to hum, low and quiet in the back of his throat. It was a droning sound, like a beehive or ocean waves. There was no melody, only the single, steadying tone.

As Tomur hummed, the air beneath his outstretched fingertips began to ripple and wave. Tyene let out a sharp gasp and dug her nails into Jahaelis’s forearm. Jalborn watched with an intensity that rivaled his son’s. The ripple of air stretched downward and outward, settling across Rosarin’s chest like an invisible mantle.

At first nothing seemed to happen. The droning went on, and the air in the room became thick and humid. Then a change came over Rosarin. Her cheeks took on color again, shedding their grey hue. They also shrunk inward, shriveled almost. The once full, pink lips became thin and dry, and even the very sweat from her brow evaporated in an instant. Rosarin Saurivic looked very much alive once again, but also partially desiccated, mummified.

“Stop!”

Jahaelis sprang to his feet, reaching out toward Tomur. Abruptly, Tomur dropped his hands, his trance broken. The Blue Obad looked just as surprised as the Saurivic family when he saw what his magic had wrought.

“What have you done to her?!” Jahaelis cried. He ran to his wife’s side, concern and horror masking just the tiniest glimmer of hope. Tyene let out another little gasp and put her hands to her mouth.

“Wait.” Jalborn blocked any further cries of protest with a single, authoritative word. “Wait. Does she live?”

Putting aside his shock for a moment, Jahaelis leaned in close above Rosarin. Her skin was parched, flaking around her mouth and hairline. He couldn’t hear anything. Then Rosarin’s bright blue eyes flew open.

“Rosarin, can you hear me?”

Jahaelis’s voice shook with every word. Tyene’s hands still remained tightly clamped over her mouth, her eyes wider than the buttons on Jalborn’s surcoat.

“Ja…lis…”

Rosarin’s voice was hoarse, like someone parched for water in the highest heat of summer. Her lips cracked when she spoke, and she tentatively licked them. There was no soothing moisture on her tongue though. She drew in a long breath, which went in cleanly with no trace of the watery gurgle and racking cough that had plagued her for weeks.

“Tomur, what have you done?”

Jalborn’s question held no accusation. Still, the head of the Saurivic family’s gaze bored into Tomur like an auger. It took a moment for Tomur to gather himself enough to give a coherent answer.

“I drew the water out from her lungs. You must understand, elemental magic is not precise, and very hard to produce exact results.” He held out his hands helplessly. “I did what I could.”

“You drew the water out from all the rest of her as well!” Tyene exclaimed. Jalborn silenced his daughter with a sharp wave of his hand.

“She will live though?” he asked.

“Yes, she will live.”

Jahaelis, who had been hunched over his wife, whispering in her ear, straightened up. He had the haunted look of a man who has made a deal with dragons.

“And what of the child?”

Tomur attempted a ghost of a smile. “The child will live as well, assuming nothing else goes ill before Rosarin reaches her ninth moon. No one will die in this household tonight.”

“Then you have done what I asked of you.” Jahaelis straightened his vest and smoothed his skewed hair. Crossing the room, he offered a hand to Tomur. “You have my thanks, Master Tomur.”

Jahaelis’s words were stiff, formal. Still, they were of thanks. Tomur took the offered hand, ignoring the terrified look Tyene was still giving him.

“Remember the vow of secrecy you all took. Say whatever you must to explain Rosarin and her recovery, but say nothing of me or of magic. Now then, if you would be so kind as to show me to your library?”

Jalborn himself offered to escort the Blue Obad to the Saurivic family archives. The servants were summoned back to bathe Rosarin and make her more comfortable. Jahaelis gave them a look so forbidding when they entered the room that no one dared comment on Rosarin’s withered appearance. Rosarin, for her part, seemed to regain strength with every passing minute. She had even recovered enough by the time the servants came to put her arms around Jahaelis’s neck and let him carry her to the bath.

Only Tyene remained in the sickroom once everyone else had gone. Turning down the tight sleeves of her gown at last, she frowned at the red marks on her otherwise unblemished arms. Vaelona was a city of beauty and culture, and no beauty was prized more highly than that of its citizens. Rosarin may be alive, but her life among the upper echelons of Vaelonese nobility was as good as over.

“I hope you do not regret this one day, Brother.”

Tyene spoke to the empty doorway. Turning away, she went to the window and looked out over the estate gardens. The scent of sickness was everywhere in the room. Tyene undid the latch and threw wide the glass window panes. An evening breeze immediately carried the scent of lilacs in from the bush beneath the window. After so much ugliness, Tyene prayed that Rosarin’s baby would be beautiful enough to make up for all of this.

* * *


	2. The Gift of a Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten Years Later

* * *

The energy in the air had little to do with the high summer sun. Even the gulls seemed to pick up on the excitement hovering over the coastal town of Utunma.

Hanging onto the southernmost tip of the Gorian peninsula, Utunma was a hub for all which came from the sea. Fishing, crabbing, pearl-diving, all these made up the bulk of the livelihoods of those living under the hot southwestern sun. Today however, the fishermen would hang up their net and the crabbers would put aside their traps. Today was not a day for working, but for celebrating. Two of their own were to be wed by the seashore at midday.

Vinie PearlDiver stood at the center of a flurry of activity in the home she shared with her widowed father, Bakko. Her usual work-worn attire had been slung across a screen on the far side of the tiny kitchen. In its place she wore twisted wraps of white cloth around her chest and waist. Pure white cloth was hard to come by in Utunma, and when her betrothed’s mother, Kor NetWeaver, had produced the bolt of fabric, Vinie had pounced on her with a delighted kiss. 

“There you are; black, white, and gold, the colors of a bride.”

Kor stood back to admire her handiwork. The squat weaver had just spent the better part of an hour twisting, fastening, and arranging the white cloth against Vinie’s ebony brown skin. They had to be worn just so, as per the customs of southern Goran. As for the gold, Vinie’s best friend, Sahar CoinDancer, was hard at work painting Vinie head to toe with whirling, intricate patterns of shimmering golden paint. Gold was adored by southerners, in all its forms. The coins woven into Sahar’s dancing skirt and top clinked against one another, dangling from her curvaceous hips as she moved, and casting fiery sparks of light across the wooden walls.

“Is it supposed to be that tight in the…” Vinie made a vague gesture behind herself.

Kor laughed. “You’re just not used to the style! I wore my wedding wrap even tighter than that. Sahar can tell you all about it; her CoinDancing outfit is much the same.”

“And it’s horrible.” Sahar laughed, tracing her brush up the inside of Vinie’s shoulder blades. “Imagine trying to dance for hours with that riding up your-”

“How is everything coming? They’ll be waiting for us.”

Bakko, Vinie’s father, stuck his head in from the bedroom just off the kitchen. A diving accident a few years ago had broken and twisted his right leg, permanently retiring Bakko from diving for pearls. Then a teenager, Vinie had taken over the family trade for her father. She dove for the pearls, and Bakko sold them at the Utunman marketplace.

“It would be going faster if you men-folk didn’t keep interrupting us,” Kor said tartly. “It looks like your father is eager to get you married and get rid of you, girl.” She winked conspiratorially at Vinie.

“Oh, is that so?” Vinie feigned hurt. “Well then, I guess you won’t have to put up with me anymore after today.”

“I would put up with your cheek forever if I thought it would convince you to stay.”

Bakko laughed as he said it, but everyone heard the wistful sadness beneath the words. Vinie was Bakko’s only child. It had just been the two of them ever since her mother had died in the jaws of a shark over fifteen years ago.

“Someone call for a sea sponge? I think I see floods on the horizon,” Sahar whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Blinking hard, Bakko smiled rather meekly.

“Oh Baba…” Vinie stepped away from Sahar and Kor, prompting a squeal of outrage from Sahar when one of her golden paint spirals went awry. “Don’t you worry; I’ll never be far away. I’ll still be diving, and you’ll still be selling the pearls, just like it’s always been. The only thing that’s changing is the roof that I’ll be sleeping under.”

“I know. If you ever need anything though, you come to me, yas?”

“You mean if I need someone to kill the dock rat under my bed?” Vinie asked slyly.

That finally wrung a laugh out of Bakko. “ _Eish_ girl, you know I can’t stand those nasty things! That’s your job, or your new husband’s. He’s got to have some sort of work to keep him busy around the house.”

Kor made a noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. Vinie’s groom was to be Zaneo SeaSon, son of Kor and Irem NetWeaver. Zaneo had no trade like the rest of the folk of Utunma. He was not lazy though, far from it. Zaneo was what southerners called a “Child of the Sea”. He wasn’t a shaman, with their deep but mundane knowledge of the ocean and all its tides and creatures. The Children of the Sea were able to tap into the very nature of water; move it, change it, even walk upon it.

Such children, as well as children who showed any ability to use other elements, were required by Gorian law to be sent to the capital at Amenthere for training. Kor and Irem had disobeyed that law. They kept Zaneo’s abilities a secret and kept him with them in Utunma as he grew up. No one outside of immediate family and friends knew, as well as Wasani, the shaman. Zaneo spent his days with Wasani down by the seaside. What they did together, no one knew, but Zaneo had flourished from a withdrawn, nervous boy into a tall, quietly confident young man ever since he and Wasani had come together. 

Zaneo and Vinie knew each other as children, or more accurately knew of each other. It wasn’t until Vinie was fourteen and Zaneo sixteen that they properly met. Zaneo had been on his way back from a day on the beach with Wasani when he had decided to go for a walk out onto one of the docks. Little did he know that Vinie was diving for pearls at that exact spot. Zaneo had been sitting with his long legs dangling over the edge of the pier when Vinie surfaced. Thinking that the legs in question belonged to her father, Vinie decided to play a joke on Bakko and let the lobster she had found pinch his big toe. The crustacean had clamped down tight with a vengeance. Zaneo’s resulting yell brought nearly half the fishermen of Utunma running down the dock. Now, a little over five years later, he and Vinie were to become husband and wife at midday. 

Catching Vinie by the elbow, Sahar drew her oldest friend back towards her.

“Hold still, you! You’re not making my work any easier, you know.”

Vinie shivered as Sahar touched the small of her back with her golden paintbrush.

“I have faith in your steady hand.”

Sahar snorted. “You’d be better off if Gideo were doing this. He is the SkinPainter after all.”

“Yas, but Gideo is with Zaneo, along with the other men.”

Kor gave Bakko a pointed look. Vinie’s father grinned sheepishly, but made no move to leave. Instead, he drew up a chair and settled into the rickety wood with a chorus of squeaks and groans. Sticking his crippled leg out in front of him, Bakko came dangerously close to tripping Kor as she scuttled past. The mother of the groom let out a hiss of exasperation and swatted Bakko across the cheek. Vinie giggled, upsetting Sahar’s painting progress once again.

* * *

The lapping of the waves on the rocks was such a familiar music in the people of Utunma’s ears that few even noticed it. All the sea people of southernmost Goran gathered together along a natural jetty of grey stone which stretched out, finger-like, beyond the shoreline to the ocean. The midday sun soared high overhead, its hot rays occasionally interrupted by the wing of a circling gull. At the end of the jetty a canopy of interwoven seaweed had been erected. The silvery tendrils were still damp from the sea, casting a cool shade over the shaman who waited beneath.

Wasani gazed across the dark, smiling faces of all gathered. Every one of them had lived their entire lives along Goran’s coastline. Weavers, dancers, fishers, crabbers, divers, and sailors alike, Wasani knew them all. Feeling the eyes of his community upon him, the shaman took a moment to square his shoulders. As an afterthought, he drew in a deep breath, pulling in his belly where it threatened to stretch the sash of his bright green wrap. He was not so old yet as to have done away completely with manly pride. Then he laughed at himself and spoke.

“My cousins, today is a day of joy.”

Wasani had more than a few blood relatives amongst the crowd. Still, as a shaman he was kin in spirit to all who called the sea home.

“Today, when the sun’s journey from horizon to horizon is the longest of the year, and the sea’s tides are at their lowest, we come together. Tomorrow, the waters shall rise again. When they rise, they shall buoy upward with them a new boat, and a new family.”

Many in the crowd took the opportunity to steal a glance at the little craft anchored behind the canopy at the end of the jetty. Every family in Utunma owned a boat, without exception. Some were small and humble, like Bakko’s little dingy. Others, like Rangi the merchant’s vessel, were nearly thirty feet long. This boat had been built by Zaneo and Vinie working together over the past several months.

It was the custom of southern Goran that betrothed couples built their family boat together. If, by the time the craft was complete, the two still wished to wed, then their union was likely to be successful. The boat Vinie and Zaneo had built was a simple dhow, held together with coconut rope and crowned with a curling sail. The sail had been a gift from Kor and Irem. Zaneo’s parents were slightly better off than Bakko and Vinie, being weavers, but they had made light of such an enormous contribution to the newlyweds’ boat. 

“Who split the boards for this fine boat?” Wasani called out.

“I did.”

Zaneo stepped forward from between his mother and father. Once a shy, skinny boy, Zaneo now towered over even his father, Irem. He was draped in a single length of white cloth, fastened at his waist and tossed artfully over one shoulder. Zaneo’s best friend, Gideo, had outdone himself today. The curly haired SkinPainter stood just behind Zaneo, grinning both at Zaneo and at how well his handiwork had turned out. Gold paint gleamed against Zaneo’s arms and chest as if the sun itself had come down out of the sky to embrace him. Kor reached forward to squeeze her son’s bicep, and Zaneo smiled the smile that had come to be adored by all in Utunma.

Wasani likewise beamed at his apprentice. “And who sanded the deck of this fine boat?”

“I did.”

Now it was Vinie’s turn to claim her part in the proceedings. Her long, curly black hair fell carefully oiled and tumbling over her painted shoulders. Vinie squeezed Bakko’s hand one more time before stepping out of the crowd to stand before Wasani. Zaneo turned that precious smile on Vinie, and she felt her heart open wide.

“Together, you have made a fine and seaworthy craft. Do you both still harbor the same intentions you did when you first set out to build it?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

Wasani reached out his hands, wrinkled and cracked by seawater, to each of them.

“Then come. Let us merge two into one.”

Their milk-white wraps fluttering about them, Vinie and Zaneo approached the shaman from either side. Vinie winked at Zaneo, and his eyes sparkled brighter than the sea beneath a midday sky.

Wasani turned to the little driftwood table behind him. Picking up a pewter goblet in each hand, he held them out before the lovers.

“On the day each of you entered this world, you were both empty cups. From that day, those around you have little by little filled those cups. Some fill your cup with love and wisdom.”

On cue, Bakko came forward on Vinie’s side, and Kor and Irem on Zaneo’s, each pouring a small measure of water into their child’s goblet from a vial. All three looked close to adding their own tears to the mix as well.

Wasani waited patiently as the parents lingered a moment beside their children before rejoining the crowd.

“Others filled your cup with friendship and laughter.”

Now it was Sahar’s turn to step forward for Vinie, and Gideo for Zaneo. They added their own vials of water to the now half-full cups. Gideo took a moment to squeeze Zaneo’s arm lightly before returning to his place, earning a warm, slightly wistful smile from the groom.

“All your lives, you have been learning and growing, taking on the gifts of those who love and cherish you. Today, it is time to share those gifts, and in doing so become something even greater and more beautiful.”

Wasani handed off a cup to Vinie and Zaneo each. Vinie had told herself all morning that she was not going to be nervous. Her grip on the cool metal was slick though. She fastened her eyes on Zaneo, checking to see if he was also nervous.

Zaneo wore an expression of pure serenity. Meeting Vinie’s eyes, he held her gaze without wavering. It was like staring over the side of a boat into the ocean’s depths. Zaneo had vivid blue-green eyes, highly unusual for the people of Utunma. Vinie knew that she would never get tired of looking into Zaneo’s eyes, even when they were surrounded by a deep maze of laugh lines.

Now Wasani was holding out a third, larger goblet between the two of them. The time had come.

“By the union of the waters of your lives, so you shall become one and whole. As all rivers flow to the sea, man shall flow into woman and woman into man.”

Her gaze still locked with Zaneo’s, Vinie’s lips quirked in a challenge. Just like the game they used to play as flirting youths; who would dare first? She clearly remembered that first, almost frightened kiss, when their game had gone from childish to heart-stoppingly real. Who had dared first then, her or Zaneo? Neither of them had cared to keep score after that first kiss, or the many kisses that followed. Now she waited, cup poised in midair and a coy smirk on her lips.

Zaneo’s cup lifted, and Vinie beat him to it. Laughter danced behind Zaneo’s smile as together they each poured the contents of their cups into the single goblet below.

“From the sea, of the sea, to the sea.” Wasani recited the old blessing that everyone in Utunma knew better than their own names.

“From the sea, of the sea, to the sea,” everyone repeated.

Holding out the filled goblet between Vinie and Zaneo, Wasani let his hands slide away as they newlyweds took hold of it.

“Let it now be known through all Utunma that Vinie PearlDiver and Zaneo SeaSon are one and the same!”

A great cheer went up from all assembled, echoing out over the bay and scaring the gulls. Finally Bakko broke down and started sobbing. Rolling her eyes, Kor pulled a cloth from her husband’s belt and handed it to Bakko. Irem was clapping so hard that the woman next to him winced at the sound.

Vinie and Zaneo continued to hold the cup, Zaneo’s long, warm fingers overlapping Vinie’s smaller ones. Vinie was just about to turn away to reassure her father when Zaneo whispered to her.

“Wait, watch the water.”

Curious and eager to join the excited throng of revelers with her new husband, Vinie wrinkled her nose questioningly. Zaneo stole a quick glance at the crowd. Then, satisfied that everyone was still caught up in the excitement of the moment, he let out a long breath and closed his eyes. Vinie heard a low, oddly toneless humming, and then the water in the cup began to move.

Slowly at first, the seawater in the marriage cup began to circle. Then faster and faster, a tiny whirlpool took shape.

Vinie had never before seen Zaneo use his gifts. She had known about his specialness since they were children, but by and large Zaneo was passed off as Wasani’s apprentice, a shaman in training. It wasn’t until they had announced their intention to marry that Vinie and Bakko had been brought in on the secret of Zaneo’s true nature. Even then, Zaneo was always very careful never to let anyone see him doing such things. The time he spent exploring the powers of water with Wasani was hidden away from curious eyes in a cave quite some distance down the shore from town.

Both exhilarated and a little alarmed, Vinie glanced at the crowd beyond the seaweed awning. In only a matter of moments their friends and family would descend on them, ready to start the rest of the day’s festivities. Kor caught Vinie’s eye, and her mouth opened in an ‘O’ of surprise when she realized what her son was doing. Wasani’s broad back was to them, but abruptly he moved to block the newlyweds from easy view; somehow, he knew.

“Zaneo…” Vinie whispered.

Zaneo was deep into some sort of trance, and did not open his eyes. The water in the chalice continued to swirl, and Vinie watched, awe-struck, as it drained away to the bottom. Something round and dark was taking shape, replacing the whirlpool.

When Zaneo stopped humming and opened his eyes, a black pearl sat in the empty cup. It was perfect, far more perfect than a natural pearl could ever be. So dark was the pearl’s surface, it seemed to take on an almost eerie depth.

“For you, my pearl.”

Zaneo plucked the black pearl from the bottom of the cup. Vinie was so overwhelmed by both the magic and sheer risk of what she had just witnessed that she was, for once, speechless.

“I…you…but…!”

Catching Vinie’s hand, Zaneo pressed the sea stone into her palm.

“I know, really I do. But look around Vinie, what do you see?”

With the surprisingly heavy weight of the pearl tucked between her fingers, Vinie let Zaneo wrap an arm around her waist and lead them both to the edge of the awning. Everywhere there were smiling faces. The salty sea air was filled with the cheers of their family and friends. Happiness was very near palpable as a living force.

“We are surrounded by our people today, Vinie,” Zaneo murmured in her ear, his lips tickling her skin. “There is nothing but love here, yas?”

“It was still a dangerous thing to do, you dock rat!” Vinie slid a hand around Zaneo’s bare torso, making sure to get in a good pinch. She smiled brightly for everyone else to see. 

Zaneo winced and passed it off as one of his crinkling grins. “Will you forgive me on account of this being our wedding day?”

“Maybe, on one condition.”

The wedding party was already beginning to swell impatiently. From the jetty they would go down to where the beach was sandy and wide. There would be singing, games, and dancing until the tide went out. CoinDancing was a rare and somewhat endangered southern art, one that Sahar did exceptionally well. Her performance would be a highlight of the party. Come sunset, Vinie and Zaneo would set sail on their new family boat, to ride the waves alone together all throughout the night. When they returned to port in Utunma the next morning, they would officially be man and wife to all of Goran.

Having to speak above a whisper to be heard in the midst of the wedding party, Zaneo leaned in close.

“And what condition would that be, my pearl?”

Vinie grinned suggestively and tossed her head toward their boat where it bobbed at anchor.

“Make this a wedding night to remember.”

There was a spark of mischief in Zaneo’s sea-blue eyes to match that of his new wife’s as they let the current of their family and friends carry them down to the beach.

No one saw a lone straggler slip away from the rear of the procession, just as no one had seen the woman eyeing the newlyweds just after the ceremony. No one often paid the unscrupulous bawd Selmay much in the way of notice. If they had, they would have noticed Selmay jogging back into Utunma toward the royal magistrate’s home. 

* * *


	3. To The Sea

* * *

Vinie and Zaneo’s first week as a married couple was chaotic bliss. Their new home was even smaller than the one that Vinie had shared with her father. Every morning the newlyweds would find themselves bumping elbows over the soapstone wash basin or having to squeeze around one another in the kitchen. They loved every minute of it. Kor warned them that they wouldn’t find the close quarters quite so novel (or sensual) after a decade or two of living together. That didn’t stop either Vinie or Zaneo from thoroughly enjoying every opportunity to be close to one another in their little home beside the harbor.

Besides turning left after the fishmonger instead of right at the end of every day, life actually changed very little for Vinie. She continued to go down to the docks before sunrise every morning with Bakko, where they would clamber into his little dingy and row out beyond the jetties. With the sky just beginning to lighten into broad slashes of pink and fiery orange, Vinie would sling her pearl-gathering bag over her shoulder, clench a heavy rock between her toes for anchorage, and slip over the side.

The water was always warm and clear near the top. Looking up, Vinie could still easily see the golden clouds beneath a sunrise-stained sky through the surface. A single gull passed overhead. Then, as she sank, the water became colder, deeper, darker. Down here it was quiet. The weight of the sea above pressed down insistently on Vinie’s ears and chest. The first time she had dived as a child in shallow waters, the sensation had panicked her and caused her to surface, sputtering.

Then her toes hit bottom. There was solid rock here, setting the spot apart from the muddy sand that covered much of the rest of the sea floor. Here was the underwater reef where Bakko and Vinie did their work. Above on the surface, Bakko was sitting patiently with a bag in his lap, waiting to open, count, and collect each haul that his daughter brought up.

Eyes burning slightly from the salt water, Vinie eyed her prize. There, beneath that long, low-down ledge was the catch of oysters that she had spotted last time. Taking out her knife, Vinie set to work prying the stubborn mollusks from their nook. A curious little orange and white fish dipped out from behind a coral, eager to see the visitor to its underwater home. Vinie wanted to smile at it, but resisted the urge in case a precious bubble of air should escape her.

All morning she dove down to the reef, collecting oyster after oyster. Bakko cracked each one open, a satisfied smile crinkling the corners of his weathered face every time the effort revealed a pearl. Come midday the sun had risen too high to continue working though. With their day’s catch tied up in the bottom of the boat, Vinie and Bakko returned to Utunma. Undoing her tight braids, Vinie let her long, wavy hair dry in the heat against her shoulders. The black pearl Zaneo had given her on their wedding day hung heavy against her forehead on its leather thong; the one and only exception to the day’s haul. 

With a kiss for her father and a wave, Vinie made her way toward home. Would Zaneo be there, or would he still be out with Wasani? The marketplace of Utunma was a throng of activity, as always. Seagulls clamored everywhere, looking to snatch a scrap of something tasty from the food stalls. Children with slingshots stood guard, eager to earn their promised wages of a copper ignum and a sweet.

A familiar shop came into sight through the crowd. With the little wooden sign swinging on chains and the painted wooden figurehead over the door, Gideo’s skinpainting parlor was hard to miss. Tattoos were a favorite indulgence in southern Goran, and Gideo had a gift for the art. Almost everyone in Utunma either knew someone who wore one of Gideo’s designs, or had one themselves. Vinie personally had three; the outline of a shark tooth behind an ear for her mother, a five-stranded chain around an ankle for her coming-of-age at seventeen, and most recently the marriage knot. All husbands and wives in Utunma carried the little white circle on the arch of their palms. Gideo had just done Vinie and Zaneo’s three days ago, and the skin still tingled at the spot.

A bell jingled as Vinie opened the door to Gideo’s shop. The air was heavy with the scent of strawberry candles. Gideo loved the stuff, and it was inevitable that customers would walk away from a lengthy session in his shop smelling of strawberries as well.

It just so happened that Gideo was with a client at that very moment. Looking up from an enormous tattoo of an albatross that he was outlining across the man’s back, Gideo grinned from ear to ear.

“Ah Vinie! You need me to have a look at the knot? How’s that brat of a husband of yours?”

It still sounded foreign to Vinie’s ears to hear others refer to “her husband”. She laughed and stuck her hand out, palm-up under Gideo’s nose.

“It’s just fine, and so is Zaneo. You should know, since you’re the one who kept him out so late last night.”

Gideo winked, a lock of curly hair falling out of its tie and over his face. “I’m also the one who left him safe and sound on your doorstep. Give me credit!”

_“A-hem.”_

The customer whose back Gideo was tattooing made clear his displeasure at Vinie distracting his artist.

“I’ll see you later, PearlDiver.” Gideo went back to detailing the albatross’s wing on the man’s left shoulder. “Save me some dinner, yas?”

Vinie raised an eyebrow as she headed for the door. “Forage for your own food tonight, SkinPainter. You need to learn how to cook one of these days! Either that or find someone of your own to marry.”

“And minnows will come schooling out of my ass.”

Still laughing, Vinie wove past neighbors, old friends, and distant relatives all the way to her new home. It was a humble little space, wedged between two similarly tall, skinny buildings. The street was close and hot, which made sleeping at night next to impossible. Sleeping beside someone was even worse. The third night after their marriage the summer heat had been so unbearable that Zaneo and Vinie had gone running down to the docks, their limbs shining with sweat, and jumped into the sea for relief. 

“Zaneo?”

The door stuck a bit, and Vinie had to shoulder it open. The smell of cooking tuna and peas greeted her. Zaneo was standing in their tiny kitchen, brow furrowed as he stared into the hearth. He appeared not to have heard Vinie.

Walking on tip-toe, Vinie crept across the reed mat floor. When she stood only an arm’s length away, she struck. Sliding her arms around Zaneo’s waist, she dropped a kiss on the nape of his neck. She rarely could ever reach that high on Zaneo, unless he presented so appealing a target as to bend or kneel.

Zaneo gave a little jump, then a chuckle low in the back of his throat.

“You’re home.”

“I am.”

“How was the diving?”

Vinie released Zaneo and let him straighten up. He turned to face her and rested a hand on each of her hips.

“It was well enough, but Baba and I may need to start thinking of finding a new spot. The Clownfish Reef is getting a bit overworked. How was your day?”

The pot over the fire hissed, and Zaneo had to take a moment to stir it before answering.

“Well, I think Wasani has finally forgiven me for my foolishness at our wedding. We went to the sunken caves and studied how the dripping of water forms stone teeth from the cave’s bottom and top.” Zaneo’s voice dropped somewhat in volume, his blue-green eyes dancing. “I tried to make a stone tooth of my own, using the water to carry the minerals faster than usual.”

“And did it work?”

“A little. It was a very short, blunt tooth. But it grew right before our eyes.”

Vinie smiled, having to reach up on the tips of her toes to kiss Zaneo. “My SeaSon husband. I still feel a thrill everyone time someone calls you my husband, you know.”

“I hope we both feel that same thrill even when our children’s children are grown.”

Vinie laughed. “By that time our bones may very well have been given to the sea!”

“Then I’ll dance with you among the waves, forever.”

“Zaneo?”

Zaneo kissed the top of her head. “Yas, my pearl?”

“Just how much did you and Gideo drink last night?”

They both laughed together, heedless of the slightly burnt smell coming from Zaneo’s casserole. A sudden sharp knock came at the door.

“Hold that thought.” Zaneo extricated himself from Vinie’s arms around his waist to go and answer.

“If it’s Gideo, tell him his stomach can wait, there’s still plenty of day left before sundown,” Vinie called after him.

It was not Gideo at the door. A royal magistrate stood on the front stoop, the golden crown pinned on his breast proclaiming his authority. Behind the sour-faced official, four Utunman Guards waited with hands on the hilts of their curved falchions.

“Zaneo SeaSon and Vinie PearlDiver?” The magistrate asked, his voice somewhat higher than expected for such a stern face.

“Yas?” Zaneo answered hesitantly. Vinie rushed to join him in the doorway.

“You and your family stand accused of perjury, harboring an unidentified Obad, and high treason. By Gorian law, you are to surrender immediately to the Utunman Guard for arrest.”

“High treason?!” Vinie dug her nails into the doorframe in alarm. “There must be some mistake!”

“It is treason against king and country to harbor an unidentified, untrained Obad in secrecy,” the magistrate replied coldly, having to crane his neck to eye Zaneo. Zaneo seemed to have frozen, a look of blank shock on his face. “Guards, take them.”

“Wait, no…Zaneo!”

Two guards seized each of them, their bronze bellyplates and chain mail shirts searing hot from the sun. Vinie bucked, kicked, and even tried to bite. She was shorter than her armed captors by a head or more though, and her struggles were to no avail.

“Let go of me!”

Hearing his wife’s cries finally seemed to jolt Zaneo from his stunned stupor. “Vinie!” He began to fight, jerking an arm free from the grip of one guard and managing to grab the man around the throat. A flare of otherworldly blue illuminated Zaneo’s eyes, and the guard pitched backward with a raging nosebleed, even though Zaneo had not touched his face.

One of the two men dragging Vinie out into the street released his grip on her, leaving his comrade to try and restrain the writhing woman. With one guard still trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose, the other two redoubled their efforts to control Zaneo. Shouting filled the narrow street, and people began to come out from their houses to see what the commotion was about.

“Hold him, hold him!”

“Don’t let him use any more magic!” the magistrate was shouting. “Don’t let him focus!”

“Zaneo!”

Eyes burning bright, Zaneo swung his arm desperately, trying to land a blow on one of the guards. The third man was back in the fight now, despite the steady stream of blood down his chin.

“Don’t let him use his magic!” the magistrate screeched again. Shouts of confusion were going up from their neighbors, and Vinie was screaming her lungs out. Abruptly Zaneo went still and rigid, his eyelids fluttering shut, just as he had done when using his powers before.

“Stop him!”

With Zaneo’s fist no longer flying everywhere, one of the guards finally got a clear shot. He punched Zaneo full in the face. Whatever magic Zaneo had been about to use was dispelled as his chin drooped forward onto his chest. He slumped between his captors. It was an easy matter from there for the guards to drag both husband and wife away.

* * *

“What do you think is going on?”

After their arrest, Vinie and Zaneo had been taken to the prison in Utunma. There they had been both shocked and dismayed to find Kor and Irem waiting for them in their cell, as well as Wasani. The terror in Zaneo’s parents’ eyes was plain. This was no doubt what they had been secretly dreading for years. Wasani tried to comfort and reassure the group, but the shaman was obviously just as shaken as they were.

After two days spent huddled together in the damp stone prison cell, they heard a commotion coming from the square outside. Now Vinie sat perched on Zaneo’s shoulders, trying to see through the bars of the single, tiny window.

“They’re building something.” Vinie smelled the sawdust and heard the hammering clearly. “There’s…I think I see horses.”

Horses were a rarity this far southwest in Goran. The large, hairy animals tended not to thrive in such heat and humidity, and southerners favored other draft animals such as oxen and donkeys. That could only mean that there were inlanders present.

“Building something, what are they building?” Kor wrung her arthritic hands together, her eye paint smudged from hours of weeping and wailing. “Tell us truly, is it a gallows?”

“Hush Kor, do not think like that,” Irem said sharply to his wife. He still sounded anxious when he called up to Vinie. “Can you see what it is?”

“It’s-” Vinie felt Zaneo squeeze her leg gently, warning her not to say so even if it was a gallows. “I can’t say for sure. All I see are boards and many people working. And most of the Utunman guard.”

“Zaneo, bring her down before someone sees,” Wasani urged, glancing toward the cell door. The shaman’s favorite orange wrap was smudged with dirt, likely from being dragged.

“Wait, I see flags.” Vinie squinted to see past the glare of the late afternoon sun.

“Flags? What sort of flags?” Wasani asked.

“What does it matter, what sort of flags?” Kor sounded close to tears again.

“They’re not dock flags. They’re longer, and draped on the town hall.”

Wasani let out a breath. “Standards. Can you see what their design is, Vinie?”

Vinie had to strain to see clearly past the bustle in the square. “They’re…Curses, move that horse! They’re red, with black crossed lines and gold trim.”

“Tell me, if you can see that far;” Wasani’s voice was filled with urgency. “Is there a crown in the center of the standards?”

“…Yas, yas I think there is.”

“Zaneo, put her down.”

A cold chill raced up Vinie’s spine as Zaneo knelt to let her off his shoulders. The hard stone floor was unyielding, unwelcoming beneath her thin sandals.

“It is as I feared,” Wasani spoke to them gravely. “The king himself has come.”

Fear settled thick and fast on the cell like a wave. For the young King Mahir, Mahaedron’s eldest, to be here all the way from Amenthere meant that events of the gravest nature would soon unfold.

Kor started to cry, holding out her arms to Zaneo. Zaneo bent forward into his mother’s embrace woodenly, like one in a dream. Irem clutched at his wife and son, his high-browed face ashen.

“You think they intend to make an example of us, Wasani?”

“I know nothing for certain, but King Mahir’s presence here…it worries me.”

Kor held out an arm for Vinie, drawing her daughter-by-wed close.

“Forgive me, children!” the distraught mother wailed. “I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t! I knew when Zaneo made his bathwater dance as a child that the law demanded we give him to the capital. I knew, I knew, but I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t let them have my baby! And now…” Kor let out a hiccupping sob. “Now we are all to die for my selfishness!”

“I refused to send Zaneo away too, Kor,” Irem said grimly. Looking to Zaneo, Irem’s words, always so firm and absolute, wavered. “We kept you here out of love, my son. Can you forgive us?”

Slowly, sluggishly, Zaneo gazed upon the faces of his family. He drew a long, deep breath.

“The people who should be asking forgiveness aren’t in here, Baba…Mama. They’re out there.”

Zaneo lifted his gaze to the little window. Irem gripped his son’s hand in a bruising grip. Zaneo reached out to Vinie and drew her close. Vinie buried her face in Zaneo’s chest, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, filling her ears with the beating of his heart. Zaneo kissed Vinie’s forehead just above where the black pearl sat, his eyes never leaving the cell window.

* * *

Four days after Vinie and Zaneo were arrested, they were all led out into the square in chains, blinking in the sudden glare. Squinting against the midday sunlight, Vinie made out what had been constructed as they sat in their cell. It was a stage, at one end of which sat three people flanked by soldiers. These were not Utunman Guards. These men wore plate armor which shone in the hot sun, their long red capes slashes of crimson against the yellow stone of the keep. 

Utunman Guards led the prisoners through the crowd in the square, and Vinie unconsciously shied away. Earlier that week, she had freely and openly mingled with these people on her way home. Now she felt very small and very exposed with all eyes on her. Then a hand shot out from the masses and caught Vinie by the wrist.

“Don’t let go of me. Whatever happens, don’t you let go.”

It was Bakko. Limping on his bad leg, the crippled PearlDiver surged forward and clung to his daughter. At the front of the line, Zaneo jerked to an abrupt stop as the chain between them went taut.

“Get back old man!” One of the guards moved to shoved Bakko away.

“Give me back my girl!” Bakko cried, he and Vinie gripping each other so tightly that Vinie could hardly breathe. “She’s done nothing wrong, give her back to me!”

“Take him away from here,” one of the guards said to the others. “Keep him out of sight until it’s done.”

“Don’t let go!” Bakko growled in Vinie’s ear, his fingers tangled in her shirt and hair. The thin cloth ripped as several guards seized hold of Bakko and pulled him back. Tears of pain sprung up in Vinie’s eyes as her father’s grip on her hair was strained, but she kept up her hold on him just as desperately. The guards were so big and strong, and everyone was pulling so hard. Her arms strained as she tried to cling to Bakko, her fingers in agony. She cried out as a clump of her hair was pulled from her scalp.

And then Bakko was gone, torn away by the guards.

“Baba!” Vinie shrieked, still reaching for him even with the heavy chains on her wrists.

“No!”

Bakko was dragged away kicking and screaming. Vinie thought she might have seen Sahar dart forward from the crowd, shouting and scolding the guards.

_Please take care of him,_ Vinie silently begged her oldest friend. What would Bakko do if she was no longer there to dive for pearls for him? How would he make a living?

Heart aching for her father, Vinie was forced to rejoin the shuffling line of Zaneo, Irem, Kor, Wasani, and herself on their long, slow journey to the stage. They were made to climb the three steps, the chains around their ankles clanking ominously. Only then did Vinie get a clear look at the three persons who awaited them.

The man in the middle had to be King Mahir. He was young, very young, almost as young as Zaneo. The heir to the royal Amenthis dynasty was handsome, in a pale, inlander’s sort of way. He sat straight-backed and proud in his chair with an easy authority that belied his age. The golden crown of Goran sat atop his loosely curling brown hair, which fell around his ears and complimented his piercing, hawk-like eyes. His full, thick brows and broad jaw made him look older than he likely was. The carmine-red doublet and grey cloak he wore must have been unbearably hot in the southern climate, but if the king was uncomfortable, he gave no sign of it.

To Mahir’s right sat an old woman in long green robes with a heavy golden ring on her third finger. She wore no crown, but her silvery hair was piled atop her head no less regally. In her lap lay a short, thick golden rod topped with an obscenely large white gem. She, similar to the king, was of the lighter complexion common to most of Goran inland from the coast. The woman’s expression was sympathetic, but also unyielding.

The third person on the king’s left was a man, fairly younger than the woman but still well into his middle years. A greying beard generously streaked with white hovered above his chest, and his hands were tucked into the sleeves of his deep blue robe. He eyed Zaneo as one would appraise a fish hanging for barter in the market.

“Your Highness, the prisoners as you ordered.”

The insect voiced magistrate was there, bowing to King Mahir deeply enough to brush his knees with his nose. Mahir nodded, and with a wave dismissed the man to one side. He placed his long, clean hands squarely on the arms of his chair and rose. The murmur of the square immediately fell into silence.

“The laws of Goran exist for many reasons,” Mahir spoke. His voice carried loud and well-practiced over the crowd. “Some of you might suggest that chief among those reasons is to ruin its citizens’ fun and claim a disproportionate cut of your market goods.”

An almost startled swell of dark laughter threatened to rise and spread. Vinie had never felt less like laughing in her life. It was easy to find the king funny when you were not the one standing before him in irons. She noticed that Zaneo’s cuffs were not of iron, but lead. They seemed to be chaffing him terribly; red rashes were already rising on his wrists.

“To those who think so, I would advise you this; the laws of this land exist to protect its people. To disobey the law is to place yourself, your family, and your friends in harm’s way. To steal is to invite the wrath of your victim upon you. To murder is to earn the vengeance of the family of the dead. To hide an emerging Obad…” Mahir swept his arm at Zaneo, Irem, Kor, Wasani, and Vinie. “…is to risk the untamed fury of magic without control. By Gorian law, all children showing signs of elemental power are to be sent to the Magicol in Amenthere for training, under supervision of the High Obad, Mistress Lirien. The penalty for hiding an Obad is death.”

A gasp went up from the people of Utunma. All of the prisoners were known to them on a personal level. Not a single one among them had not met each of the condemned at least once. Utunma was a small and close-knit peninsula town.

Vinie’s heart began to beat faster and faster. How long now until it stopped beating forever? Afraid, she looked to Zaneo for comfort. Zaneo was staring straight ahead, unseeing. He gave no sign of even having heard the king’s words. Wasani’s eyes were closed, his lips moving over and over in the same familiar chant.

“From the sea, of the sea, to the sea…From the sea-” 

The magistrate was speaking now. “Zaneo SeaSon, you stand accused of being an unidentified, untrained Blue Obad. Irem and Kor NetWeaver, Wasani SeaShaman, and Vinie PearlDiver, you stand accused of hiding an unidentified, untrained Blue Obad. Will the accuser please step forward?”

When Selmay, a local tavern woman approached the stage, all eyes were upon her. Open anger was clear in faces of many in the crowd. Wasani was beloved as the shaman to all in Utunma. No doubt Selmay would find even less welcome now among the southern people than she had before.

Her ratty hair falling out of its wrap, Selmay sneered at Zaneo and the others. Cheap jewelry covered every inch of her wrists and neck.

“I saw you. I saw you turn the water in the marriage cup into a pearl.” She pointed at Zaneo. “I had to send my little girl away to Amenthere last year, yas I did. Why should you…” She jabbed a painted finger at Kor and Irem, “…get to keep your boy, when I did the right thing and didn’t hide mine?”

There was thunder in Irem’s face. Everyone knew that Selmay had far more children than she could care for. It was doubtful she had even hesitated to send one daughter to the capital. Still, there was surprise in the buzzing of the crowd. No one had known that Selmay’s fifth child – a skinny little scarecrow of a girl – was magically gifted.

“Zaneo SeaSon, do you deny the accusations?” the magistrate asked.

“The proof is right there, on his wife’s face!” Selmay shrieked, now pointing at Vinie. “See, the brazen minx wears the pearl even now!”

Vinie wanted to shrink away from the vehemence of Selmay’s words. Zaneo had given her this pearl on their wedding day though, and she would not reject it. Lifting her chin, Vinie silently dared any of the guards to try and take the pearl from her.

“Do you deny the accusations?” the magistrate repeated. 

“No.”

“And it is well that you do not.” The silver haired woman stood. “We can sense your magic all the way from here, SeaSon. Do you know who I am?”

Zaneo shook his head. Irem however nodded curtly. “You are Lirien, the High Obad.”

“Right you are, Irem NetWeaver.”

The hem of her long green robes swishing, Lirien approached where they stood. Up close, Vinie could see the eerily bright green of her eyes and the sweat plastering strands of gray to her neck and cheeks. Elderly though she was, the High Obad did not seem at all wilted by the heat. Rather, she carried herself with all the grace and dignity of a mighty queen.

“You have a strong gift.” Lirien stopped in front of Zaneo, ignoring the crowd in the square. “Very strong. You could have done many great things in Goran’s Magicol. Tomur.”

The Blue Obad stood and went to the High Obad’s side. He stood patiently to one side with his hands still tucked in his sleeves. 

“This is Tomur, a Blue Obad like yourself. Or rather, like what you could have been if you had been trained. Tell me, Tomur…do you envision us being able to start over with this young man, and train him even now?”

A stab of hope rushed through Vinie, buoying her heart and filling her lungs. She had never imagined that perhaps there was still a chance for mercy. They would all miss Zaneo terribly if he were to go to Amenthere. Vinie decided right then and there that she would follow him, and find work in the capital. She would bring Bakko too, and Kor and Irem. They could all be together, even if they weren’t in Utunma by the sea. O, wouldn’t Zaneo look strange, swathed from neck to foot in those heavy blue robes!

Tomur frowned, looking Zaneo over from head to toe. “How old are you?” he asked.

“One and twenty,” Zaneo answered, almost shyly.

“Hmmm. You were able to manipulate water into a physical form, so you cannot be entirely untrained. What tutelage have you had?”

“I have taught him, Obad,” Wasani interrupted. “I am the shaman here, and I took it upon myself to strengthen the boy’s knowledge of the sea, and himself. He was not entirely without guidance throughout this time.” Having ceased in his quiet chanting, Wasani leaned forward from his place in line, hopefully.

“I see.”

Tomur bent in close and whispered something in Lirien’s ear. The High Obad frowned but nodded. Turning away, Lirien returned to her seat, leaving behind a faint scent of perfume. Tomur stepped back, away from the prisoners.

“Your gift is strong, as Mistress Lirien said. You are too old to start from the beginning though, and you have learned too much from another. Only young minds, fresh and unspoiled, can become true Obads. You would never be one of us.”

A brief flash of realization passed across Zaneo’s face as the implications of Tomur’s refusal hit home. Then he lifted his chin calmly.

“I belong to the sea, not to you and your king.”

Tomur arched a white-specked eyebrow but said nothing in reply. He looked to Mahir, who once again addressed the square.

“So be it. Executioner.”

A figure wearing armor similar to the king’s guards, but also a mask of polished black stone, stepped out onto the far side of the stage. At the executioner’s side hung an enormous, broad axe. Its blade gleamed so brightly that it could have been a mirror.

Vinie shuddered as they were all pushed down onto their knees. She looked down at her manacled hands in her lap, fingers rough and chapped from years of work. The little white marriage knot on her palm stared up at her. Thank the stars Sahar was with her father. Despite knowing this, Vinie still looked up to search the faces of the crowd one more time. Amidst the horrified faces of her friends and neighbors, one in particular stood out. Gideo SkinPainter - always smiling, always laughing Gideo - watched with tears rolling down his cheeks, barely restrained by a pair of Utunman Guards on either side of him. 

“Do you have any last words?” Mahir asked.

Irem shook his head. Kor let out a deep sob next to Vinie. Wasani was chanting again, eyes closed, lips moving faster than ever. Vinie swallowed and lowered her gaze once again to her lap. Her throat was painfully dry and tight.

“I do.”

It was Zaneo. Raising his bowed head, Zaneo boldly looked the king straight in the eye.

“Speak then.”

“I beg you for mercy on behalf of my wife. Vinie knew nothing of my magic until our very wedding ceremony. What could she do then? Please, I hear you have a young wife and newborn son of your own.”

There was silence in the square, broken only by the calling of the gulls over the docks. In shock, Vinie stared at Zaneo. In all their years together, she had never known Zaneo to tell a lie. But here he was, on his knees condemned to die, lying to the king’s face. She and Bakko had both been told about Zaneo’s powers the day they announced their betrothal. Even before then Vinie had spent enough time with Zaneo to have her suspicions.

Mahir’s lips were tightly pursed, his handsome face troubled. The silence went on and on. The magistrate made to speak, but a look from the High Obad quieted him. Vinie counted each and every heartbeat as they waited.

“You swear by the very sea you hold so dear, that your wife was ignorant of your magic until the very moment you were joined?” Mahir asked Zaneo, his words slow and measured.

“I swear by the sea itself.”

Vinie tried desperately to catch Zaneo’s eye. He continued to stare straight at Mahir though.

“Very well, as king I grant your dying plea. Vinie PearlDiver’s sentence shall be commuted to life in prison, on account of previous ignorance and marital loyalty. Proceed with the rest of the executions.”

“Wait, no!”

A guard appeared on either side, unlocking the chains that bound her to the others. They hauled her to her feet and away as the executioner took his axe in hand.

“Wait, please!” Vinie begged, desperately fighting to stay on the stage. “Zaneo, wait! Wait!”

She was behind the lineup now, and couldn’t see Zaneo’s face. His head was bowed, shoulders relaxed, patiently waiting as the executioner came up behind him. That terrible axe gleamed brighter than ever, hungry for blood.

“Wait!” Vinie screamed.

The only thing she wanted in the world was to go to Zaneo and throw herself over him, shielding him from the blade, the king, his Obads, and the world. The executioner raised his axe high overhead.

“Zaneo!”

* * *


	4. A Pale Wallflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Ten Years Later

_This chapter has an audiobook chapter available;<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y16jKa3y5Fw>_

* * *

The Saurivic estate fairly hummed with activity. Servants swarmed everywhere, putting the final touches on this flower arrangement or that floor polish. No one even dared go near the kitchens, where the cooks were ordering everyone about with the steely authority of First Company knights. Every banister had been dusted, every window hung with the good silk curtains. Outside, the gardeners fussed over their flowerbeds and lit the lanterns lining the path to the front doors.

Tonight, on the third night of July, the Saurivic family was hosting a ball in honor of Crowning Day. Crowning Day marked the anniversary of First King Amenthis’ coronation, and by extension, the birth of Goran itself. Every Gorian household marked the occasion, some more ostentatiously than others. The nobility of Vaelona made celebrating Crowning Day into something of a sport, each trying to out-do the others when it came their turn to host the party.

Upstairs, away from all the noise and activity of the household, the heir to the headship of Saurivic family stood bent over his wash basin, a towel draped across his shoulders. Wringing excess yellow dye from his damp hair, the young lord straightened and looked in the mirror. A little sigh of resignation escaped him. The face in the glass was the same that had always greeted him for the past nineteen years.

Jatheryn Saurivic had been born as bleached white as the first snows of winter. Nothing about him had any color whatsoever, not even the rings of his eyes. If he were an illustration in a manuscript, he would have been the one that the artists forgot to color in. Nothing could have set Jatheryn further apart in a city like Vaelona, with its deep love of beauty in all its hues, displays, and extravagancies.

It was fairly common knowledge that Jatheryn’s mother, Rosarin Saurivic, had been direly ill during her pregnancy with him. Somehow, no one knew how, that sickness had affected him in the womb. Whatever its cause, the Saurivic family had never lived Rosarin’s illness and Jatheryn’s appearance down.

Rubbing his freshly washed head dry, Jatheryn dubiously eyed the result. He had been dyeing his bone-white hair a somewhat less offensive shade of pale blonde for as long as he could remember. It did little to help the rest of him though. Why couldn’t fate have been at least a little merciful and given Jatheryn his maternal relatives’ square jaw and broad forehead? Instead, Jatheryn had inherited his father’s precise, bony features and his mother’s narrow eyes. The finished product was a razor-sharp, hollow looking face that seemed incapable of warmth.

With another sigh and a shrug, Jatheryn put aside the towel and set to work dressing himself. His private rooms were his one sanctuary, and he was loathe to go downstairs. Today was Crowning Day though, and every member of the Saurivic family was expected to be in attendance.

As he laced up the sides of his ocher doublet, embroidered with the black and gold Saurivic family crest, he paused to look longingly at his viol where it leant in the corner. The polished wood gleamed in the late afternoon sun, beckoning him to stay and play a while. The instrument had been a gift from his grandfather, Lord Jalborn, on his thirteenth birthday. As the heir to one of Vaelona’s richest families, Jatheryn owned many fine things, but that viol was his most treasured possession.

Reluctantly turning his back to the room, Jatheryn went out into the hallway. Over the banister, he could clearly hear the servants rushing about making final preparations. Somewhere below in the house he could also hear his father’s voice. No one took the public appearance of their family more seriously than Jahaelis Saurivic.

“I thought you said you were going to wear the indigo jacket, the one with the stars on it?”

Awenis Saurivic stood with her head cocked to one side, examining her elder brother’s apparel curiously. Born two-and-a-half years after Jatheryn, Awenis was one of the select few people in all of Goran whose company Jatheryn genuinely enjoyed. That came largely from their being the only two in existence who understood the world through the other’s eyes.

Rosarin’s strange illness had afflicted not only her firstborn, but her second as well. Awenis was pale beyond pale, like a porcelain figurine. Unlike Jatheryn, Awenis did have some color to her. Her long, baby fine hair shone white-gold without dyeing, and her lips and cheeks hinted at just the slightest rosy blush. Awenis’ eyes were a strange, ghostly shade of the lightest amber, as if they were brown being seen through several layers of frosted glass. Jatheryn loved Awenis with a fierce, protective love, and she returned his affection as only an adoring little sister could.

“I changed my mind.”

Jatheryn tried to deflect the question casually. In truth, he knew what kind of disapproval he would earn from both his mother and father if he were to wear his favorite dark blue clothes to the ball. Such grim shades only “enhanced his flaws”, according to Rosarin. 

Awenis smiled slightly, understanding her brother without words. “Well, I suppose we ought to wear the family crest anyways, since tonight is a formal affair. Do you think Gran and Grandfather Wynmyar will come?”

“Doubtful,” Jatheryn replied. “Blue Stone is a little far off to come just for one ball.”

“Ah, you spoil all my wishful thinking!” Awenis pouted, but Jatheryn could easily hear the playfulness behind her petulant words.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Awenis rolled her eyes dramatically. Then she turned in a sudden spin on her toes, setting the hem of her carnation pink gown fluttering in the still indoor air. Silver birds and roses detailed in glittering thread caught the light across her narrow shoulders and torso as she spun. Awenis was small and delicately built, prompting Jatheryn to tease her with the nickname “Birdy” when they were children. 

“Well, what do you think?” Awenis smiled, no doubt fishing for a compliment from her oft-obliging brother.

Jatheryn clapped, less sarcastically than he would have done in his earlier teenage years. “Splendid. You’ll have to fend off dance offers with the gardener’s stick tonight.”

Awenis beamed.

Heels sounded on the marble staircase, click-clacking loudly as their wearer hurried up toward them.

“Awenis, Jatheryn, there you two are.” Their aunt Tyene swept her sharp gaze over them, inspecting them from head to toe. “Awenis, go and put more blush on, and lip stain too. You don’t want to be looking so pale in such a lovely gown, my dear.”

“Oh, I forgot…I was just so excited to get downstairs.”

Awenis flicked out her kittenish tongue over bare lips. Jenni, Awenis’ maid, stuck her head out of Awenis’ room, a hairbrush and jeweled hair clips in hand.

“My lady, come back! We haven’t finished yet.”

“Coming, Jenni.”

Awenis gathered up her gossamer dress and scooted back down the hall. Jatheryn thought she looked more than ready as she was, but held his tongue. Men learned from a young age in Vaelona that the subject of women’s beauty regimes was strictly off-limits. 

Tyene then fastened her raptor sharp focus on Jatheryn. “You should be downstairs with the rest of the family. Guests will start arriving any minute now.”

“Right.”

Not giving his always watchful aunt any further chance to comment, Jatheryn hurried down the stairs, the smooth banister cold under his hand. The smell of roses filled the foyer from several carefully placed vases. Two of the servants skittered past with candles and candlesticks piled high in their arms. They nodded respectfully to Jatheryn, taking care to avoid his eye. Sometimes Jatheryn wondered if they thought he was capable of cursing them with his colorless gaze. It was a notion almost amusing in its morbid self-depreciation.

He found his mother and father in the drawing room, consulting on some last-minute changes to the evening’s menu. Rosarin had her usual mask of heavy cream, oil, and lavender on her face and hands. Whenever Rosarin had to make a rare public appearance, she would leave the greasy concoction on her skin until the very last possible minute. The sickness which had nearly taken her life had also prematurely aged Rosarin. Without her pre-event cream-and-oil mask, Rosarin’s skin would be flaking and cracking within the hour. Even with it, she was still far more withered and wrinkled than any other woman her age. A tall glass of water with lemon sat on the end table; a constant that Rosarin was never without.

“There you are, Jatheryn. I wanted to speak with you before the ball tonight.”

Jahaelis dismissed the assistant cook with a final scribble on the menu. Leaning back against the yellow velvet lounge couch, the heir apparent to the Saurivic family headship cut an impressive figure. The years had only just recently succeeded in putting a few slivers of grey into Jahaelis’s hair and mustache. Otherwise he remained as slim and tall as a man closer to Jatheryn’s age.

“What about, Father?” Jatheryn chose a brutally straight-backed chair and sat. The one aspect of his appearance that anyone ever let him be proud of was his impeccable posture.

Habitually lacing his fingers together, Jahaelis peered at his son. “I know that socializing at events such as these is not your… _natural_ inclination. Still, I would like you to at least make an effort this time. No retreating upstairs or to the gardens as soon as the music starts. I expect to be able to find you present on the main floor, inside, at any given time this evening. Am I clear?”

“Yes, I hear you Father.”

“You hear, but will you listen?” Rosarin spoke from her seat in the corner of the divan, her rough, gravely voice raising hairs along the back of Jatheryn’s neck. “You must promise that you will not excuse yourself early from the Crowning Day ball.”

Leave it to his mother to catch the loopholes that Jatheryn always tried to leave for himself. Shoulders sagging imperceptibly, he nodded.

“I promise I will not leave early.”

“Very good, that was all I wanted to hear.” Jahaelis smiled in satisfaction.

Thinking that was the worst of it over with, Jatheryn gripped the arms of his chair in preparation to rise, but Jahaelis stopped him with a swiftly upraised hand.

“One more thing; a specific request if you will. The Farakirn family will be in attendance tonight, along with their youngest daughter, Kendris. Perhaps you might make good on your promise to be social at the ball by engaging with her in conversation. I hear she’s a reasonably intelligent girl, and recently come of age.”

Jatheryn had to think quickly. How badly did he want to avoid a confrontation with his father today? The Farakirns were technically a noble family in Vaelona, but only just. Roughly eight years ago, a girl from the mighty Iralar family had put her foot down and _demanded_ to marry a member of that particular family of commoners. Less than a week later, someone had “discovered” that the Farakirn family possessed prestigious ancestry. Still, all the rest of the nobility continued to view the Farakirns as little more than glorified working class. Weighing the circumstances, he decided perhaps it was best to pick his battles for the moment. To aggravate Jahaelis Saurivic on the eve of a large public event was to court disaster.

“Very well, I will make an effort to speak with Lady Kendris tonight. Is there anything else you wished to speak with me about?”

“No, but do not go anywhere. I expect the first of our guests shall be arriving any minute. Where is that sister of yours?” Jahaelis craned his neck, trying to see around the glass doors toward the foyer.

“Still getting dressed no doubt.” Rosarin reached for her water. “It takes time and effort to put together a lady, Jahaelis.”

“As I well should know, having been married to one for more than two-and-twenty years,” Jahaelis replied with a slight quirk of his mouth.

“Here I am!”

Awenis came dancing into the room in a swirl of sheer pink skirts and silver birds. Her long corn-silk hair had been curled and loosely pinned back, leaving most of it free to cascade down to the small of her back in a shower of ringlets. Tyene hurried into the drawing room on her niece’s heels just as a crunching of hooves and carriage wheels on gravel came through the open windows. 

“And not a moment too soon,” Rosarin exclaimed, waving to her servant. “Paulet, come help me take this mask off, and hurry!”

* * *

The greeting line was always Jatheryn’s least favorite part of any social event. With Lord Jalborn placed first, all members of the Saurivic family waited to greet each and every one of their guests at the front entrance. Jahaelis and Rosarin arranged themselves immediately after Jalborn, followed by Jatheryn and Awenis. Behind them came Tyene, her husband Randir, and their children, Myles and Taevrin. Pleasantries were exchanged, along with the traditional Vaelonese greeting; a touch of two fingers to their own lips, then to the fingertips of the other person.

It was the same as ever—a polite nod of the head, a few inane comments about the weather or politics, and then, right on cue, the slight hesitation to touch Jatheryn’s offered fingertips. He was a Saurivic though, as well as a member of the hosting family. Even if they may not want to, the guests had no choice but to complete the greeting as propriety dictated. It was almost an hour of postured agony for Jatheryn.

A brief happiness came when the Shakian family arrived. A middle status family, the head of the Shakians greeted Lord Jalborn with a deep, respectful bow. It was the middle daughter of the family, Hadriel Shakian, who brought a shy smile to Jatheryn’s chalky face.

Exquisitely beautiful, tall and slender with honey blonde hair down to her waist and blue-grey eyes that seemed to see the very thoughts in others’ minds, Hadriel held the interest of more than a few highborn young men in Vaelona. She greeted Jatheryn with a curtsey and a courtly smile, her cool fingers meeting his for an instant before moving on to Awenis. Jatheryn held her peach-colored gown in the corner of his gaze for as long as possible without ignoring the next person he was supposed to be greeting.

As per custom, it was not until the evening was nearly in full swing that the other two ruling families of Vaelona arrived. Gilded carriage wheels crunching over the gravel of the estate drive, the Iralar family arrived mere moments ahead of the Tremaris family. Grooms opened the carriage doors and accepted the reins of the horses from their drivers. No courtesy was missed when it came to these guests.

Gendrew Iralar greeted Jalborn with a hearty handshake before remembering himself and offering the formal greeting. Jatheryn liked the loud, boisterous head of the Iralar family.

Gendrew’s eldest daughter, Gwynnis, was married to King Mahir, a fact which infinitely increased the Iralars’ status among the nobility. The king and his Vaelonese queen had an eleven-year-old son together, and it was widely rumored that Lady Gwynnis was finally with child again. Even with all this prestige to his family’s name, Gendrew never looked down his nose at people, unlike Marielle Tremaris.

His thick grey mustache looking more like a living creature than ever, Gendrew greeted the Saurivic family with gusto.

“Good to see you again, Jalborn. By Amenthis’s beard, you’re getting shorter every time we meet these days!”

“No doubt you are stealing my height to add widthwise onto your waist, Gendrew,” Jalborn said glibly.

The head of the Iralar family let out a guffaw that echoed off of the painted ceilings. He greeted Jahaelis and Rosarin with equal enthusiasm, wringing genuine smiles out of both of them. The other members of the Iralar clan were somewhat less boisterous, but followed their head’s charismatic example.

When Gendrew reached Jatheryn and Awenis, he didn’t hesitate to touch fingertips with either of them.

“The last time I saw you was at your Coming of Age last December, Jatheryn,” Gendrew said, stroking his mustache. “No doubt you’ll still be recovering from that party!” He winked exaggeratedly. “I still remember the headache I had after my own Coming of Age.”

“If only your body still remembered your measurements from those days,” Gendrew’s wife, Alais, commented with a droll smirk from behind her husband.

“I could scarcely forget such a painful reminder.” Jatheryn lied easily, feigning a wince and a chuckle. No doubt old Gendrew had been taken out on the town for his Coming of Age decades ago by a large posse of similarly boisterous young men. Jatheryn wondered briefly what it would be like to go out and get horribly drunk, surrounded by other youths his age and welcomed as one of their own.

“And young Awenis, is that you? Goodness gracious girl, you get more grown up by the year, to say nothing of your cousins!”

Taevrin and Myles grinned and bowed, both immensely pleased at an opportunity to show off their dramatically increasing heights and first mustache hairs. Tyene was no less proud of an opportunity to show off her sons. They were, after all, the “healthy” progeny of the Saurivic family. Still, Jatheryn was the eldest child of Jalborn’s eldest child. The leadership of the Saurivics would pass through Jahaelis to him one day, barring unforeseen circumstances. Trying to keep that in mind, Jatheryn squared his shoulders and steeled himself to greet one last family...the Tremaris family.

One of the oldest and wealthiest families in Vaelona, second only to the Saurivics for ancestry, the Tremaris’s were famous patrons of the musical arts throughout the city. Their head, Marielle Tremaris sparkled like a chandelier with sapphires, amethysts, and diamonds. They were sewn into her gown, woven into her iron-grey hair, even pierced into the lobes of her ears. Jalborn greeted Marielle with a respectful bow.

“It is so good to see you here tonight, Lady Marielle.” Jalborn touched his fingertips to his lips first, initiating the greeting.

“And you, Lord Jalborn.” Marielle echoed the gesture, her chin angled upward haughtily. “Your gardens are looking lovely tonight.”

“No doubt thanks to those fine northern lilacs you sent to us last summer,” Jalborn demurred, a rare thing from the elder patriarch.

Marielle was well known to be a terrible gossip. The only difference between her and the old women on the city’s park benches was that Lady Tremaris’s word carried weight among the social hierarchy of Vaelona. Nobody wanted to be on her bad side. Those unfortunates who found themselves there usually fell victim to some vicious rumor or other within the month.

Jahaelis and Rosarin spoke with equally as much respect as Jalborn when they greeted Marielle, although Rosarin was somewhat shorter with her words than usual. After Rosarin’s illness and subsequent disfigurement, a rumor had made the rounds that the sickness had been venereal in nature. The source was never confirmed, but Rosarin was a smart woman. 

Smiling and greeting Lady Marielle was like trying to swallow a live spider with a straight face. Jatheryn was well-practiced in the art of disingenuous emotions though. He managed to survive the exchange without being on the receiving end of one of Marielle’s famous hidden insults. After all, he had endured enough of those over his nearly twenty years to have become impervious to veiled mockery. Still, he was the heir to the Saurivic family, and there was only so much that words could do to him.

The rest of the Tremaris family were not quite as acerbic as their head, and finally the greeting line came to an end. It was held up slightly when Darenel Tremaris, the youngest son of the Tremaris family, lingered over his exchange with Awenis. A sharp look from his great aunt called Darenel further into the house though, and at last Jatheryn found himself free. He may have promised not to leave the party, but he could at least find some camouflage among the guests now. 

Everyone gathered in the ballroom of the Saurivic estate, and as the light faded outside, lanterns of red, orange, and yellow glass were lit. The ballroom became cast in a warm glow which made the golden goblets being carried around on servants’ trays seem even shinier. A septet of musicians set bow to string in one corner, filling the space with the sweet music of harps, viols, and cellos. Everywhere there were noblemen and noblewomen, their jewels sparkling hotly in the aurous light. A hundred different perfumes mingled together, creating a heady bouquet.

Finding an empty chair against the far wall, Jatheryn settled into it and prepared to occupy that spot for the remainder of the evening. Soon there would be dancing, and that would at least be entertaining to watch. Unable to resist, he let his pale eyes flicker from face to face, scanning for Hadriel Shakian.

A sudden movement beside him caught Jatheryn’s wandering gaze. Lord Jalborn claimed the empty seat next to Jatheryn’s and offered his grandson a glass of wine. Taking the fine crystal in hand, Jatheryn smiled and nodded in thanks.

“I hear you’ll be staying with us for the entirety of the evening tonight, Grandson,” Jalborn remarked casually, eyes sliding sideways to peer at Jatheryn.

“I... They told you about that, did they?”

“Yes, and I must admit to being glad of your promise.” Jalborn took a sip of his wine. “It is nice to have a fellow cotton-top to sit on the sidelines with.”

Somehow when his grandfather teased him about his unusual looks it never felt like an attack. Grimacing sheepishly, Jatheryn smoothed the top of his dyed hair. It was true; his and Jalborn’s heads nearly matched. 

“You’ve always been an old soul, Jatheryn. In a kinder world you might have been called beautiful for that.”

Surprised, Jatheryn frowned with his wine glass halfway to his mouth.

“What makes you say that?”

Jalborn half smiled, his old blue eyes sad. “I see how you look at the room, at gatherings of people. Don’t resign yourself to a life alone just yet. You’re too young for thinking yourself without a future.” Leaning forward, Jalborn jerked his chin toward a figure in the crowd. “Your father asked you to make Kendris Farakirn’s acquaintance tonight. Well, there she is. Why don’t you go and introduce yourself?”

Jatheryn squirmed. He had just caught sight of Hadriel across the room. The grey-eyed Shakian girl was talking with two other noblewomen and laughing about something. She was even more beautiful when she laughed, if that were even possible.

“Well?”

“Well...it’s just that...”

Kendris Farakirn was very plain, bordering on dumpy. Her bottle green gown was brand new and suited her very well, but she was still quite plump just the same. Even the elaborate styling of her thin brown hair did little to enhance the girl’s looks. Kendris was standing beside the crystal punch bowel, sweeping the room anxiously with her eyes as the first chord of a dancing song rang out.

“She does not want to be judged for her appearance any more than you do,” Jalborn said sternly. “Talk to her, and you may find that you have more to talk about than just the color of her dress or the style of your shoes.”

Abashed, Jatheryn nodded. “I will try, Grandfather, in a little bit. I would like to watch a dance or two first though.”

Seemingly satisfied that Jatheryn had at least agreed to try, Jalborn leaned back comfortably in his chair and took another drink of his wine. Sitting in companionable silence with his grandfather, Jatheryn tried to pick out Hadriel again. Failing that, he searched for Awenis among the crowd.

He spotted Awenis at length through a gap in the dancers in the center of the ballroom. The porcelain paleness of her skin setting her apart from the rest, Awenis danced like a snowflake in a storm of color. Her partner was Darenel Tremaris. The blue of the young nobleman’s tunic against the soft rose of Awenis’ gown was easy to spot. Awenis’ tiny fingers clutched at Darenel’s hand as he turned her, and the silver birds on her shoulders sparkled. She said something as the dance brought them back together, and Darenel laughed.

Glad to see his sister enjoying herself, Jatheryn sipped at his wine. The music was incredible, and he amused himself by guessing at the time signature and key of each song. The viol player made a subtle mistake that he thought no one had noticed, and Jatheryn smiled to himself. Next to him, Jalborn chatted with other heads of families, allowing Jatheryn to join or not join each conversation as he chose. He forgot all about Kendris Farakirn.

* * *


	5. Shattered Dreams

* * *

_Day number three thousand, six hundred and fifty-one._

Vinie slowly etched another notch onto her calendar. Three hundred and sixty-five notches for each vertical line, ten finished lines. That was a notch for every day that she had spent in the dungeons of Utunma. This morning, Vinie had resignedly traced out another blank year line, her eleventh.

Stepping back from the wall, Vinie took in the sum total of her last decade of life; three thousand, six hundred and fifty-one notches in the stones. Each and every one of those days was indistinguishable from the rest. Only Vinie knew the stories behind the stone lines.

Day number eighteen. Vinie brushed the worn groove with her callused fingertips. That was the day she had finally stopped crying herself to sleep every night. Day number ninety-four. That had been the day she had fallen ill with stomach flu. Pitiful as it might sound, that had actually been a highlight. For a week she had had the company of the prison doctor to break the long, empty monotony of her existence.

Then there was day number three hundred and fifty-four; her first wedding anniversary. Vinie had celebrated by repeating every single word of the wedding ceremony back to herself, sitting with her knees drawn to her chin on her thin, mouldy cot. Then, with nothing else to do that day but sit, she had repeated the words again.

“From the sea, of the sea, to the sea.”

Vinie realized she had said the words aloud. She had started talking to herself somewhere around day two thousand and twelve. It was either that or go days on end without hearing another clear human voice. Occasionally the shouting of other prisoners or the gruff commands of guards could be heard, but they were always muddled, indistinct as they echoed along the black stone corridors. Sometimes the cook would say something like “There ya are” or “Eat up girly” when he dropped off her daily meal. Vinie clung to these words as tightly as she clung to her black pearl each night.

Moving over to the ninth year-line, Vinie rubbed the deep mark where the three-thousandth day began. That was the day she had begun work on her map. Today was the day she would finish it.

Inch by painstaking inch, Vinie had carved a copy of the map of Goran into the far wall of her cell. It was enormous, fully large enough to span from corner to corner and ceiling to floor. Working with only a few rusty nails as tools was difficult, and more than a few times Vinie’s fingers had bled when the nail slipped. The map was exquisitely detailed though, and looking at her finished progress at the end of every day brought rare and precious flashes of satisfaction.

The southern peninsula and Utunma nearly touched the floor in the bottom left corner of the cell. From there the western coast dipped and stretched outward, passing the fishing village of Danitesk. North of that was Syrion, a place Vinie had heard much about as a child from traders. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine the cliffside baths and sandstone buildings laden with ferns. Once she had dreamed of visiting Syrion, a long time ago.

Next came the inlet of the Ramida River, piercing inland straight to Aryna Lake and BlueStone. From there it wasn’t far to the vast northern woodlands known as The Night Forest. Goran ended in the north at Paledir’s Bay, somewhere so cold that water even froze and turned solid. It was at the base of Paledir’s Bay that The Teeth started; the mountain range that split Goran cleanly down the center from north to south. From her lessons at the school in Utunma as a child, Vinie had learned that there was nothing much east of The Teeth, only open plains and barren deserts. Getting there was only possible by a narrow road through the midpoint of The Teeth, or by sailing around the southeastern coast from the ports at Moaan. 

Getting every last detail of her geography lessons etched into the stone had taken Vinie over two years. Now there was only one thing left add; Amenthere. Vinie had been putting off putting the capital on to her map until the last minute. Seeing that place, the heart of her sorrows, given its spot in the world felt wrong.

“The heart of civilization, they call it.”

Vinie grimaced, her grip on the nail tightening. There wasn’t much left of the tool. After today, what would she do to pass the time? Perhaps she ought to just leave the map unfinished, a never-ending project.

“And then what...spend the rest of my life staring at the blank spot where Amenthere should be?”

Lifting the nail and bracing it with her thumb, Vinie drilled the little dot for a city into the stone. The wall felt wet and sticky against her arm. Water was forever leaking through the foundations of the prison.

It took only a moment to make the mark, another hour to carve the name “Amenthere”. When she was finished, Vinie backed away from the map until her shoulders hit the bars of her cell door. The nail fell with a clink to the floor. It was finished.

Sliding down until she hit the hard floor, Vinie propped her elbows on her knobby knees. Ten years. Ten years alone with only her own voice, blank walls, and a pearl. The little sphere weighed hard and heavy between her eyebrows, where it had sat for more than a decade. Apparently the prison guards thought it was cursed, having been created by a SeaSon’s magic. No one had ever tried to take it from her, not even during the arrest.

Untying the leather thong from around her head, Vinie laid the pearl in her palm next to the faded marriage knot tattoo. The pearl was just as endlessly black as it had been the day Zaneo gave it to her. Even the night sky at new moon could not have been darker. Sometimes Vinie would look at the pearl and pretend she could see the stars in it. It had been so long since she had seen the open sky, or the sea.

What would life be like now if Zaneo had lived? Would they have had children by now? What would their names have been?

“Stop that,” Vinie told herself firmly. “You haven’t survived ten years alone to go mad now.”

Still, the longer she looked at the finished map the more she wondered. The Obads had said that Zaneo was powerful in his own right. What could Zaneo have done if Amenthere had not come riding in with their king, their Obads, and their axe?

“What claim did they have over him anyways? Is the capital the only place in all Goran where Obads can live?”

Pearl still in hand, Vinie pulled herself to her feet. She found the nub of the nail where she had dropped it, hiding in a grimy crack between the stones. Standing before the map on the wall, Vinie stared at the space between Utunma and Amenthere.

“What could you have done, Zaneo?”

Placing the worn tip of the nail against the black rock where the southern peninsula started, she scratched a faint, spidery line heading inland from the sea. In her mind’s eye, she could see Zaneo; that all-encompassing smile of his, and the way the water had swirled in the marriage cup. She could hear the low hum as he used his magic.

“What could you have done?”

In her imagination, Zaneo raised his long arms and closed his bright blue-green eyes. She saw the sea, calm and vast, stir in answer to his droning summons. The ocean rose, rose, rose until it was a wave the likes of which nearly destroyed Danitesk decades before.

With her eyes closed and mind wandering, Vinie let the nail scratch across the stone. Inch by inch, she carved across the surface of her stone map.

The Zaneo in her mind raised the sea higher and higher still. Nothing could stand before the wave he had summoned. And then, with a wave of his arms, Zaneo sent the water thundering toward the shore. It struck hard, cleaving through sand, earth, the very stone upon which Goran sat. The sea sliced through the land as Vinie’s iron nail scraped across stone. A channel yawned in the wake of the water, quickly filled in by the hungry, serpentine currents. The land, once whole, was split in two by the sea.

Opening her eyes, Vinie saw for the first time what she had done. A single, wavering line stretched from the western coast to The Teeth, cutting off the entirety of southern Goran. Danitesk, Moaan, Utunma, the Bay of Torbos, all now lay beyond the reach of the capital, carved free by Vinie’s imaginary channel of water.

“Not ‘southern Goran’...not part of the king’s world, but something else…something new.”

No doubt she sounded mad, babbling to herself alone in the gloom. There was no one to hear though.

“And if the south is free, then so is the east.”

With a renewed vigor, Vinie attacked the wall, chiseling a line straight down through The Teeth from north to south. Once that was finished, she scratched another border between Amenthere and The Night Forest in the north. Then she divided the east again, and then one more time for good measure—it was so large after all. Every time she started a new line Vinie imagined Zaneo standing on the shoreline, raising the sea to cut off that land from the main.

Only when the nail at last broke, taking one of Vinie’s fingernails with it, did she stop. Cradling her bleeding thumb, Vinie took in the product of her momentary madness.

In the shadows of the cell, the map of Goran looked like a spider web. White lines cut across the black stone in every which way, dividing city from city and region from region. Amenthere sat alone in this maze of borders, looking very meek and insignificant.

“Where is your kingdom now, Your Highness?” Vinie asked the empty cell smugly.

It would be a new world. No longer would Obads have to leave their homes to join Goran’s Magicol. No more would the south answer to laws written in Amenthere. They would write their own laws. It was incredible. It was...a dream.

“Just a dream, Zaneo, like us.”

All the energy that had propelled her only moments ago drained away. Falling onto her rickety cot, Vinie tore off a scrap of dirty blanket to bandage her bleeding finger. All that work, and she had destroyed her map that had taken so much time and effort to make. Now she had to look at that shattered land, and the shattered dream behind it, forever. 

With a soul-deep sigh, Vinie rolled toward the wall, turning her back on her mangled creation. Day three thousand, six hundred and fifty-one, the rest of her life left to go.

* * *

Vinie was lying on her back on her cot, staring up at the ceiling, when a snuffling sound broke the silence. Jolted by the rare new sound, Vinie swung her bare feet down onto the cold stone floor. There was nothing in the cell, not even the rats that occasionally came looking to steal scraps of food. Then the snuffling came again, from high up.

Craning her neck to the lone, tiny window near the cell’s ceiling, Vinie realized what was making the noise. It was a dog, a muddy mutt with long tawny hair hanging down over its eyes and muzzle. She could hear it panting in the midday Utunman sun. The sight of another living creature that was not a guard or the prison cook was a delight.

“Hello!” Vinie called up to the dog, careful not to be too loud in case a guard or another prisoner heard. “Stay right there, I’m coming.”

As quickly as she could, weakened as she was by her long incarceration, Vinie pulled her cot over beneath the window. The mutt panted as loudly as ever, sounding quite congested.

“Stay there, don’t go anywhere!”

Even with the cot to stand on, Vinie was just short enough that actually reaching up to pet the dog through the window bars was out of the question. Disappointed, she settled for talking to the shaggy stray instead.

“You look like you’ve been out swimming this morning, yas? Was the water nice and cool and fresh?”

Straining, Vinie just thought she could even catch a whiff of seawater from the dog’s fur. It was a horrible, wonderful odor. Vinie would have cheerfully given her left arm for a chance to jump into the ocean again.

“Sounds like you have a stopped nose. You aren’t sick, are you?”

The dog wriggled forward, and the sound of its tail thumping on the ground outside a muffled drumbeat. It stuck its head right up through the window bars, and Vinie could see why its panting sounded so congested. A roll of cloth was clenched between its teeth.

“What do you have there?”

Before Vinie could reach out or duck, the dog dropped the wadded-up cloth directly on her head. It was soaked with drool.

“Eish, watch it dog!” Vinie squawked, surprised.

Scooting backward, the mutt disappeared from view. Instantly dismayed, Vinie cried out after it. 

“Wait, don’t go! I’m sorry, it’s alright! Please, come back!”

It was too late though; the dog was gone. Vinie mourned the loss of the first companionship she’d had in months. Dropping down onto the cot, she let her head fall to her knees and groaned.

Something wet touched her foot, and she remembered the cloth the dog had dropped. With nothing better to do, Vinie poked at the sodden bundle. It wasn’t just a blank scrap though. A corner fell back to reveal the edge of something written on the inside.

Hands shaking, Vinie unrolled the stinky, drooled-on message. How long had it even been since she’d read something not written by herself? The note was short, written in a tiny, looping hand.

_We’re coming. Give no sign when you see me tonight._

“See who?” Vinie asked aloud, confused. Then just as quickly, she clapped a hand over her mouth, cursing her carelessness. What if a guard happened to be nearby right at that moment? What if someone found the message?

With thoroughness only someone with endless time and no way to spend it could possess, Vinie tore the cloth to threads. By the time she was finished, nothing wider than one of the spidery lines on her map could be found of it. For good measure, she even stuffed those threads into the cracks between the stones in the floor. Then there was nothing to do but wait. After ten years, Vinie was very good at waiting.

* * *

When the bolt of her cell door was drawn back that evening, Vinie was ready. She eagerly scanned the faces of the two Utunman guards who entered, looking for a familiar face. There was nothing there but bored glowers and badly trimmed beards. Still, they were company.

“Over there,” the older, fatter guard grunted, pointing at the heavy iron ring on the far wall next to her year-lines.

Once, Vinie had railed against being chained to that wall. The first time they had tried to do it, she had called the guards every foul name she ever learned from Gideo and spat at them. There was too much nervous excitement in Vinie’s heart to worry about such small matters now. She quickly went to stand by the wall and let the man snap a heavy manacle around her ankle. They must need to do something with her cell, some kind of work perhaps.

“What are we doing tonight?” Vinie asked, dangerously close to cheerful. She couldn’t help it; the message had given her more hope than she’d felt in years. The younger guard with the broken nose stared at her.

“’We’ are not doing anything. You are going to stay put and keep quiet, yas?”

Reining herself in mentally, Vinie nodded and shut her mouth. The older guard went back out into the darkened corridor and called out to someone. When he returned, he carried a torch and led an old man in a locksmith’s apron. The locksmith was wizened and shrunken, a hunched-over figure with a white beard and deep wrinkles in his black face. He walked with a pronounced limp in his right leg.

Vinie’s eyes instantly filled with tears and a lump jammed her throat tight. She had to fake a violent coughing fit to stop herself from bursting into tears right then and there. It had been ten years since last she saw her father. Never once had she been allowed visitors.

Bakko shuffled over to the cell door and proceeded to inspect the lock, totally ignoring Vinie. The guards both gave Vinie a severe glare as she brought down her cough attack. Bakko’s back was turned though, and so they said nothing.

“These locks are in terrible shape, worst I’ve seen in all my time in the business,” Bakko suddenly declared, waving the guards over. “I’ll have to replace them, no doubt about it.”

“Fine, charge it to the prison account. Just get it done, LockSmith, and make sure you use something that can’t be picked with a bone or anything like that.”

The younger guard gave Vinie a glower over his shoulder as he spoke. Vinie had gained a little notoriety in the prison on day one thousand, four hundred and eighty-six for having picked her cell lock with a chicken bone. She had gotten almost to the kitchens before the guards finally tackled her and dragged her back.

“I have just the thing.” Bakko was rummaging through his bag. “New made, perfect for this sort of job.” He produced a shiny bronze padlock, heavy enough to cause Bakko’s scrawny arm to droop under its weight. “See?”

“Fine, fine,” the older guard said, waving a hand.

Bakko set to work, prising the old lock out of the cell door as the guards looked on. Vinie did her best not to look at her father, or even in his direction. To do so would be to invite another meltdown. Instead, she took off her pearl and played with it in her fingers. The guards subtly shifted their weight away from her when she did so, and Vinie smiled to herself. So it was true; the guards did think her pearl was cursed.

After nearly half an hour, Bakko straightened up with a grunt and a loud crackle from his spine. Vinie didn’t remember her father seeming so... _old_. How was it that he was here, locksmithing for the prison? The thought of how the years must have changed everyone from her old life nearly made Vinie’s head spin.

“Alright, all done. That ought to hold everything from a drunken SkinPainter to a CoinDancer’s herd of admirers!”

“I’d like to see a drunken SkinPainter find their way out of a soggy cheesecloth sack,” the younger guard snorted.

One guard escorted Bakko from the cell while the other unchained Vinie from the wall. The portly fellow closed the new lock on the door with a sharp, satisfying click. He gave the door several experimental tugs before grunting and leaving Vinie alone once again, in the dark.

“A SkinPainter and a CoinDancer,” Vinie whispered to herself. That could only mean one thing. Whatever was going on, Gideo and Sahar were in on it along with Bakko. Despite the gloom, the dank and the dirty smells of prison, Vinie felt full of sunlight.

* * *


	6. The Rainbow Gardens

* * *

With a gentle clink of china, Jatheryn set his cup of black tea down on its saucer. He had never particularly enjoyed tea, but a proper Vaelonese breakfast simply wasn’t complete without it. After finishing an entire bottle of rose wine between himself and his grandfather during the Crowning Day ball last night, Jatheryn would have been just as happy to settle for a simple glass of water. The cheerful twittering of finches in the garden outside was just a tad too loud to Jatheryn’s hyper-sensitive hearing, and he winced in the direction of the sunny patio.

“Personally, I thought Lady Belryn’s snub of Lady Kilgorin was entirely uncalled for,” Rosarin was saying in her usual gravelly croak. As always, the servants were keeping her glass of lemon-water bottomless. “Just because the Kilgorins have yet to produce this generation’s latest Obad does not mean they have lost anything in rank or status.”

“Honestly, it’s time the Kilgorins let some other family have a turn at producing an Obad. It’s high time the Magicol found another young Ovate.”

Randir, Tyene’s husband, shrugged, reaching past Jatheryn for the sliced grapefruit. His strawberry-blonde hair and sapphire-blue eyes easily marked him as a Shakian by birth—traits which both of his and Tyene’s sons had inherited.

Rosarin huffed. “Yes, well, you’d think birthing a sorcerer was some sort of great honour. The Obads claim no ties outside the Magicol, and ultimately contribute nothing to their family lines. An opportunity wasted, if you ask me.”

“Speaking of family lines, did you see Gendrew and Alais prancing around like a pair of peacocks last night?” Tyene exclaimed. The morning sunlight in the dining room caught the early signs of crows’ feet around her dark eyes. “You’d think they were the ones pregnant with an Amenthis heir!”

“In a removed sort of way, they are, since Queen Gwynnis is their daughter.” Awenis couldn’t help but giggle. “I wonder if this time it will be a princess?”

Jalborn frowned slightly at Tyene, un-tucking the embroidered napkin from his collar and placing it beside his cleared breakfast plate. A servant sprang forward to take the used dishes away to the kitchen, making way for the head of the Saurivic family to properly savor his tea.

“Gendrew is proud of his grandchildren, Prince Hithon and the prince or princess to be. What grandfather would not be? I certainly am.”

All four of the Saurivic youths at the table grinned, taking their grandfather’s words to heart as though they were privately addressed to each of them. Jatheryn in particular treasured Jalborn’s praise as if it were a rare jewel, tucking it away in his secret treasure trove of kind words and friendly exchanges.

Thirteen-year-old Myles decided to spoil the moment in typical youngest-cousin fashion. Blue eyes sparkling with gleeful mischief overtop of his button nose, Myles called across the table at Awenis.

“Lord Gendrew wasn’t the only one prancing at the ball. Awenis, you danced an awful lot with Darenel Tremaris. Did he keep asking you, or did you keep asking him?”

Jatheryn waited for Awenis to dissolve in a mess of flushed cheeks and stammered protests, as she always did when confronted with her social escapades. He was surprised when Awenis casually adjusted the sleeve of her powder blue summer gown, a dreamy half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Both, and we had a lovely time. He’s a very good dancer, the best I’ve ever met, actually. Mother, remember how you’ve always told me that you can tell a lot about a man by how he dances?”

“I do.”

Rosarin’s smile was rather tighter than usual. She and Jahaelis exchanged a look that made Jatheryn wonder. Awenis didn’t seem to notice or care, and went back to cheerfully sprinkling sugar on her strawberries. 

Tyene gave her son a light rap on the back of his hand with her long, thin fingers.

“Myles, you were purposely trying to embarrass Awenis with such a question! Apologize to your cousin, and mind yourself.”

The youngest Saurivic boy lowered his head. “I am sorry Awenis, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he mumbled, sounding very contrite.

Jatheryn and everyone else knew that Myles’s apologies were about as sincere as a trick mirror at the Solstice Carnival. Part of being the youngest was the uncanny ability to get off lightly for any transgression. As the oldest, Jatheryn couldn’t imagine what that might be like.

“That does remind me though…” Jahaelis looked straight at Jatheryn.

 _Curses_ , Jatheryn thought. He had half-hoped he might get lucky this morning. Not so, apparently.

“Jatheryn, did you make the acquaintance of Kendris Farakirn last night, as I asked you to?”

The first trick to lying was never to hesitate. The second was to give just enough detail to make the lie convincing, without giving enough to trap yourself if asked to reconfirm later. Jatheryn nodded. He purposely avoided Jalborn’s questioning gaze though. Lying to his parents was easily and often done…lying to his grandfather, not so much. 

“Yes, after the third waltz. We discussed the minstrels.”

“Indeed?” Jahaelis pressed for more details.

Thinking quickly, Jatheryn nodded again. “I asked her what she thought of their troupe, and she said that they would sound ever so much better if they were to drop the second lute and become a sextet instead. We agreed that the two lutes together often conflict with one another, especially with an alto singer for the harmony.”

Randir raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “It sounds to me like you were listening more closely to the musicians than to the girl.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t cuff you for not paying proper attention to her, coz, or even dump her drink on you!”

Taevrin, Tyene and Randir’s oldest, laughed and nudged Jatheryn’s foot under the table. His voice was just now starting to break, and that put together with his peach-fuzz mustache and long, gangly legs made Taevrin the very image of male puberty. Jatheryn was counting the days until the oily skin of adolescence came for Taevrin. Maybe that would take some of the wind out of his gregarious cousin’s sails.

At the head of the table Jalborn cleared his throat, requesting and immediately receiving the attention of the rest of the Saurivics.

“I think we have adequately dissected last night to the fullest by now; time to focus on the day at hand. Jahaelis, Tyene, would you both join me in the study? There are some matters of bookkeeping that we ought to address.”

“Of course, Father.” Tyene stood, smoothing back her velvet skirt. “Randir, would you see to it that the boys get to their fitting appointment this morning for their new boots?”

Jahaelis was just about to rise as well, when Awenis seemed to recall something.

“Oh! I almost forgot to ask! Mother, Father, may I go out to the Rainbow Gardens this morning? Bythnaryn, Trianne, and I made plans at the ball last night.”

“You may, but try to be home before mid-afternoon. You have a singing lesson with your tutor at four o’clock.”

Jahaelis straightened his tunic, smoothing away the invisible wrinkles which nobody else saw. From the looks of things, Jatheryn wasn’t the only one in the Saurivic household who dyed his hair. All of yesterday’s hints of grey seemed to have vanished.

With an expectant smile, Awenis turned to Jatheryn. “Will you come with us? The sun is so beautiful this morning; imagine what the Gardens will be like!”

Immediately Jatheryn’s stomach turned over and gave a twist. He caught his mother’s eye though, and faked a rather pitiful attempt at an enthusiastic smile.

“I would be glad to. When do we leave?”

“As soon as Trianne and Bythnaryn arrive, which should be any minute. Meet me at the front entrance in ten minutes?”

Jatheryn nodded weakly, trying to ignore the clammy sweat gathering on his palms. He couldn’t explain why, but going out into the city always gave him anxiety. Maybe it was the sheer multitude of eyes that inevitably fell upon him out there.

Standing at the front entrance with his sister a few minutes later, Jatheryn still felt the roiling of his nerves. When Awenis came downstairs a look of pure contrition was written all over her pretty face.

“Oh Jath, I am sorry.” Awenis only used her childhood nickname for Jatheryn in particularly close moments. “I forgot that you don’t like going out.”

“It’s not going out that I don’t like, it’s being out.” When Awenis cocked her head, bird-like, in confusion, Jatheryn smiled again, sincerely this time. “Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you want me along with your friends.”

“Still, I did not mean to put you in a position with Mother.”

Jatheryn shrugged. “I am always in a position with Mother.” Seeking to change the subject, he cast about for a topic. “You look very nice for a day out with the girls. Aren’t those the earrings that Grandmother Saurivic left to you?”

Awenis stroked one of the blue teardrops dangling from her ears; stones mined from the northern reaches of The Teeth.

“Better I wear them every once in a while, than leave them gathering dust in my jewel box, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so. Ah, I think I see your friends now.”

Figures moved outside, visible only as colored splotches on the other side of the mottled glass blocks bordering the front door. Sure enough, less than a moment later the peal of a dozen bells echoed throughout the whole of the estate. A servant immediately appeared to answer the call, but Awenis already had the door halfway open.

Bythnaryn Kilgorin and Trianne Belryn greeted Awenis with hugs and kisses to their fingertips. Bythnaryn, the youngest of the trio at freshly seventeen, grinned and wound a chestnut curl around her finger. Her eyelids glittered from beneath a sheen of sparkling powder. The trend was brand new; Bythnaryn never missed a chance to be on the vanguard of fashion.

Unlike the willowy Bythnaryn, Trianne was so short that Awenis had to bend over to hug her. What the pixie-like girl lacked in height she made up for twice-over in sheer wit. Women three times Trianne’s age had been skewed on the end of her verbal barbs. Gazing up at Awenis through long, curly black lashes, Trianne smirked.

“You look like you’re going out to another ball today instead of the Rainbow Gardens. Not holding out on a private invitation on us, are you?”

“I would never!” Awenis protested with a laugh, touching her fingertips to Trianne’s. Then, looping her arm through Jatheryn’s, she pulled him out onto the sunlit stoop. “Is it alright if Jatheryn comes with us? I invited him along today. I have a feeling the Gardens will be a sight not to miss.”

“Of course.”

Trianne and Bythnaryn demurred with curtsies and polite smiles. Jatheryn could see that the warmth of their exchanges with Awenis was no longer in their eyes. They were younger daughters of middle-ranked families though, and would never dare insult the heir to the Saurivic name. Steeling himself for a day among the public of Vaelona, Jatheryn let Awenis lead him down the drive and out into the city.

* * *

The walk to the Rainbow Gardens was not long, and Jatheryn gave thanks that the early hour meant relatively empty streets. The scent of roses fanned out from balconies on either side, the heartfelt redness of their blooms only making their aroma sweeter. Road cleaners were just finishing their work, sweeping away any dirt and debris from the cobblestones to prepare Vaelona for another day. The creamy whiteness of the buildings was tempered by falls of ivy here and there, adding a sense of age to Goran’s most treasured city. Upon every wrought-iron gate hung a circle twisted into two; the symbol of eternity. It was a mark well known and widely used in Vaelona. Eternity meant different things to each person, but by and large it represented wishes for the endurance of all things good and beautiful. 

Still with Jatheryn’s arm tucked in the crook of hers, Awenis chatted gaily with Trianne and Bythnaryn as they walked. The three were like a flock of sparrows, their chirps and twitters rising and falling with the conversation. By and large the talk centered on their own social circles, with which Jatheryn was unfamiliar. Occasionally Awenis would prompt Jatheryn for his input on this spat or that flirtation. Trying to offer insights on relationships for which he had no context was no easy feat, especially for an elder brother. Still, the time passed quickly, and soon they found themselves at the gates of the Rainbow Gardens.

Feeling somewhat emboldened by the pleasantness of the walk there, Jatheryn insisted on paying for admission for Trianne and Bythnaryn, as well as himself and Awenis. Trianne tried to protest, but Awenis quelled her refusals with cheerful remarks about having extra money for feeding the birds later.

The inside of the Rainbow Gardens was a delight of colors to put any Vaelonese ball to shame. The gardens were housed in a giant greenhouse, easily as wide and twice as tall as the Saurivic estate’s main household. Most of the panes of glass in the greenhouse walls were clear, but every so many panes a stained- glass pattern was strategically placed. These cast ribbons of sea blue, rosy pink, majestic purple, and vivid orange across the leaves of the many plants housed within.

These windows were not the only sources of color in the Rainbow Gardens. Many of the exotic trees and fronds dangled layered bundles of glass prisms from their branches. These caught the light from outside and sent it dancing everywhere in little sparks of red, yellow, and indigo, like diamonds hanging in midair. Tiny birds brought from the jungles of southern Goran darted this way and that, their wings moving so quickly they confounded the eye. Their feathers shone iridescent, making even the living residents of the Rainbow Gardens part of its visual symphony. 

Awenis clapped her hands together in delight. “See Jatheryn, I told you this would be worth seeing!”

“You were right.” Jatheryn smiled. A prism hanging from a nearby blue jacaranda tree spun lazily, throwing a tiny rainbow across Awenis’ hair.

Bythnaryn took Awenis’s hand and pulled her down the two steps into the greenhouse.

“Come on Awenis, I hear Jain and Ashlyn found a hummingbird nest when they were here last week. Come and let’s find it!”

Jatheryn trailed along after the three girls, content to let them dart this way and that among the gardens. The warm, humid air was a little stifling in his fitted doublet and shirt, but he enjoyed the scent of a thousand exotic plants. The Rainbow Gardens were not exceptionally crowded. Still, Jatheryn obeyed his lifelong impulse to stay on the edges.

Whenever he passed another person he nodded politely and continued on his meandering way. Sometimes, if they were particularly quick witted, the other person would recognize Jatheryn right away and return the silent acknowledgment. More than once it took a brief double-take for the approaching individual to remember that Jatheryn was a Saurivic and employ their manners. The roiling, clammy sensation that had come over Jatheryn back at home never entirely went away, but the beauty of the Rainbow Gardens kept it manageable. 

Rounding a corner at the far end of the greenhouse, Jatheryn spotted Awenis. Her robin’s-egg-blue dress and corn-silk hair stood out against the deep green of the ferns around her. She walked slowly, intent on the row of fronds and orchids that separated her from the other side of the walkway. The low heels of her slippers clicked softly against the slate walkway, echoing throughout the Rainbow Gardens. Somewhere a fountain of crystal-clear water trickled.

Reaching out a pale hand, Awenis brushed at the leaves with her fingertips. Jatheryn wondered if she were searching for the hummingbird nest. Then, reaching the far end of the row, she ducked around and vanished from view. Jatheryn thought he heard a giggle, or was it the fountain?

The walkway split into two, and Jatheryn let it take him back toward the center of the Rainbow Gardens. He found Trianne and Bythnaryn there, sitting on a bench around the central fountain. The two girls acknowledged his arrival with quick nods, then went back to their gossip.

There was an empty bench a few feet away, which Jatheryn settled into. The water droplets falling from the mouth of the stone sea serpent in the fountain sparkled like precious jewels in midair. Jatheryn watched their mesmerizing fall for a time.

Small feet clapped against the floor nearby, followed by a delighted squeal. Jatheryn shifted on his bench to find a little boy not five years old chasing after a hummingbird nearby. The child caught site of Jatheryn and was immediately distracted from the chase. Eyes wide, the toddler pointed at him.

“You’re white,” he declared.

It was an oddly refreshing way to hear himself described. With a friendly smile, Jatheryn leant toward the child.

“Yes I am. Do you think it looks strange?”

Rather than answer, the child approached the bench where Jatheryn sat. His large green eyes stared in fascination at Jatheryn’s colorless hair.

“Can I touch?” the boy asked, his hand already reaching up.

“You may, if you like.” Jatheryn slid down toward the end of the bench and bent closer. The little boy was just about to grasp a strand when a woman’s voice called out.

“Lucien, come away!”

Surprised, Jatheryn jerked. When he looked up, he heard a gasp of recognition. The boy’s mother was already hastily curtsying.

“Ah, my apologies Lord Jatheryn. I do hope my son was not bothering you at your leisure.”

The apology rang rather hollow when the woman quickly drew her son to her. The little boy was unhappy at having been pulled away from his new discovery, and pouted out his lower lip. Aware of Trianne and Bythnaryn’s eyes on him, Jatheryn had little choice but to play along.

“Not at all, not at all. I hope you enjoy the Rainbow Gardens, they are very pleasant this morning.” 

“We will, thank you.”

The woman curtsied again and hurried her son along. Jatheryn watched them go, trying to smile when the little boy glanced back as he was shooed away. Trianne and Bythnaryn went back to their chatter, and Jatheryn was left alone once again to watch the fountain.

A familiar clicking of shoes told Jatheryn when Awenis finally found them. She was flushed, her lips and cheeks looking pink even beneath her makeup. A happy smile seemed to have found its way onto her face and permanently etched itself there.

“Ah, there you three are!” Awenis exclaimed, claiming a seat on the bench between Trianne and Bythnaryn. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“You were the one missing Awenis, not us.” Trianne rolled her eyes.

“We found the nest, over on the east side of the gardens.” Bythnaryn pointed, fluttering her glittering eyelids. “What were you looking for, so far in the north corner?”

“Oh…nothing in particular. I was just wandering.”

Jatheryn thought Awenis looked awfully pleased about just wandering around, even if they were in as beautiful a place as the Rainbow Gardens. The three girls chattered for a short while longer before they all rose and headed for the main entrance.

More people were starting to fill the greenhouse as the day ripened, and Jatheryn was growing more and more eager to head home. A group of young noblemen slid ahead of them on the way out, their cheerful banter echoing in the doorway. One of them actually greeted Jatheryn as he passed, nearly causing Jatheryn to miss a step. Both pleasantly surprised and somewhat taken aback, Jatheryn returned Darenel Tremaris’ wishes for a beautiful day.

Happy to have been proven wrong at the last in his assumptions for this outing, Jatheryn hardly noticed the walk home. Another moment to add to his private treasure trove of greetings, exchanges, and smiles.

* * *


	7. Candles in the Long Night

* * *

The usual sounds of the prison at night echoed dimly through the dark, damp passages. Somewhere someone was banging against their cell bars and shouting; most likely a new arrival. A guard yelled back, and for a time there was silence. Then elsewhere another prisoner started singing in a broken, off-key drawl. It was one of the bawdiest tavern songs known to Utunma, and soon a few other voices joined in the chorus. This carried on for some time, until the singing rose in volume at a particularly saucy part. The guard’s voice cut across the tune with a slamming door and a “Shut up already!”

Sitting with her knees folded to her chest on her cot, Vinie took no part in the nightly bedtime ritual of the prison. Provoking the guards was often fun, but tonight there were other things on her mind.

This time last night had been the first time Vinie had seen her father in over ten years. She recalled every detail of him that she could remember. The stoop to his shoulders, the white of his hair and beard, the deep wrinkles and worry lines, all of these were new aspects of Bakko in his daughter’s eyes.

“Oh Baba…please hurry.”

Her little cell felt more oppressive and stifling now than it ever had. The urge to claw her way out through the very stones and breathe the good, clean, night air outside made her bones tingle. Unable to sit still any longer, Vinie jumped up off her cot and began to pace. Her poor sandals were nearly done for, and pacing would not help their plight. Still, Vinie tracked ever tightening circles around the room. Every so often she would glance at her fractured map.

“Broken. The world is broken,” Vinie observed to herself.

Her mind was buzzing like a hive of bees; never a healthy thing when shut up in tiny spaces. Some deep instinct told Vinie that it was alright now though; she need not hold back and plan for forever in this room anymore. Her father would come for her, she was sure of it.

“And if he doesn’t? Then you’ll really be in trouble now, won’t you?”

“He’ll come.”

But what if Bakko did not come, or whatever he was planning did not work? The thought overwhelmed and terrified Vinie. With such hope swelling up inside of her, how would she ever survive if all that hope was for nothing? Lesser things had driven people mad.

“If I do go mad, I suppose it will make the rest of my life pass more quickly. I’ll be perfectly happy; it will be the guards who will have to deal with me forever.”

It was a dark thought, but it made Vinie smirk to herself all the same. Her singing was awful, and if she went mad it would make her joining in on the evening chorus far, far worse for everyone involved. That seemed like an appropriate revenge. If she had to stay trapped in here with them, then they would have to stay trapped in here with her too.

These pleasant thoughts kept Vinie amused for a few minutes more. Then little by little she began to sober back to reality. Once again, her map caught her eye and she slowed in her pacing. The line she had carved separating southern Goran from Amenthere stood out particularly in the dim light of her cell. Remembering her daydream of Zaneo, Vinie smiled and reached out to brush the deep groove with her fingertips.

“What a world it could have been, Zaneo.”

_“Vinie.”_

It was barely even a whisper, more like a breath of memory. It filled her mind and sent goosebumps racing up her arms and neck. There was no mistaking Zaneo’s voice though, not even after ten long years parted.

“Zaneo?!”

Vinie whirled around, searching the darkness. All she saw was shadow, shadow...and then a figure silhouetted against the torchlight at the cell door.

“Vinie?”

“Baba!”

Vinie threw herself at the door, clutching at her father through the bars. Bakko smelled like sea salt and sweat, and it was the most beautiful perfume to Vinie. Finally, the tears she had been holding in welled up and spilled freely down her cheeks.

“I knew you’d come. I knew it.”

Vinie sobbed like a child in her father’s arms, trying to pull him closer, even through the bars. Bakko clung to his only daughter as tightly as the day they had been ripped apart in the crowd.

“Oh, my baby girl…my girl…my brave girl.”

Bakko was crying too, his bony shoulders shaking beneath his rough cloth jacket. He was so skinny, so frail in Vinie’s embrace. Had he always been this small?

Finally, Bakko took hold of Vinie’s wrists and gently pried her loose. His watery brown eyes were still brimming with tears, but he managed a feeble smile.

“There isn’t much time. We’re getting you out of here right now. Gideo, get down here and bring your friend with you.”

There came a grunting from the stairwell, and a soft thud. Gideo appeared, lugging something large and covered in a woolen shroud down the stairs. It looked enormously heavy, and Gideo let out another soft groan as his burden clunked down the last step.

“Shhhh, keep it down!” Bakko hissed. “We paid off one guard, not all of them.” With another squeeze of Vinie’s hand, Bakko pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket. He stooped to the new lock he had installed the night before and began fitting a large brass key to the hole. 

“The rest might as well be paid off.” Gideo gave another grunt as he dragged the wrapped bundle toward Vinie’s cell. He paused to brush a mass of sweaty dark curls out of his eyes and smile. “Ready to come back to the world, Vinie?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Vinie returned the smile through her tears of joy. If this was a dream then she would sooner die than waken.

“Good, because the world is definitely going to be coming for us once we get you out of here.”

As Bakko twisted and pulled at the lock, Gideo untied the cord holding the shroud in place. It fell away to reveal a sight so strange that Vinie almost laughed. It was a ship’s figurehead, painted to look as close to human as wood possibly could look. The black locks of hair still glistened with damp paint in the torchlight. Then Vinie saw the figurehead’s upraised hand, or more specifically upraised finger, and really did laugh.

“Business must be terrible if you had time to do _that_!”

“You like her?” Gideo grinned rakishly. “I think she gets the point across fairly well.”

The lock snapped open with a ripe click. Neither Vinie nor Bakko could get the door open quickly enough. Then she was cradled in her father’s arms. The two of them nearly crushed the life out of each other, and squeezed even more tightly still. Vinie buried her face in Bakko’s shoulder, and at long last found safety again.

“Help me with this, will you?” Gideo was struggling once again to move the ‘Vinie’ figurehead.

It took all three of them to put the thing on its side and lift it up onto Vinie’s cot. The carven statue was in no way similar to Vinie’s bony frame, but it was a body to fill the bed. Working quickly, they arranged the thin scrap of blanket to cover everything but the figurehead’s head and shoulders. Gideo took extra care to turn the face toward the wall of the cell.

“There. She’s no great beauty, but she’ll hopefully make it past morning head count.”

Gideo nodded with satisfaction, stepping back to take in the finished display of his work. With the blanket drawn up, all that was visible was a head of oddly smooth black hair. The form was far too chunky, but it would have to do.

“What now?” Vinie asked. She was trembling with nervous excitement. “You said you paid off a guard?”

“Yes, and Sahar has taken care of the others. Hurry now!”

Taking hold of Vinie’s hand, Bakko followed Gideo as the tall SkinPainter led the way to the stairwell. One of the other prisoners - a repeat offender constantly being arrested for smoking sativa weed - eyed them as they passed. Vinie had heard his voice before, but never seen his face. The prisoner gave Vinie a conspirator’s wink and a yellow-toothed grin before rolling over on his cot and starting to snore obnoxiously.

As they ran up the torchlit stairs, Vinie could hear the distant sound of music. It was a familiar melody, with deep drums and a high, reedy flute playing in concert. Vinie hadn’t heard that kind of music since her wedding day.

“Baba, is that…?”

“No time to explain now, but we’ll tell you everything once we get somewhere safe.” Gideo pushed open the unguarded door, and then they were outside.

They were in an alley, with rain barrels and garbage piles lining the prison wall. A dock rat scurried by their feet, and Bakko flinched. Then he released Vinie’s hand to dig behind one of the barrels. The music was much louder and clearer now, as well as the appreciative cheers of a crowd.

“Here, put this on.”

Bakko pulled out a rolled-up cloak from behind the rain barrel and gave it to Vinie. The fabric was worn but clean, and scratched unfamiliarly against Vinie’s skin. Gideo meanwhile shut the side door through which they’d come, glancing around inside to make sure they hadn’t been seen or followed.

“Now, walk slowly and keep close to me. If someone sees us, you run. Don’t wait for me, don’t look back. Just run.”

Vinie bit her lip and frowned, glancing down at her father’s twisted leg. There was a hard, determined light in Bakko’s eyes that said he would not be argued with.

“We won’t be seen,” Gideo interrupted. “Sahar is all warmed up by now and no one with eyes will be looking anywhere else. Come on, follow me.”

Gideo fell into a casual but purposeful stride with Vinie and Bakko keeping close behind him. He led them from the alley toward the street in front of the prison. They were near the heart of Utunma, and the roads here were tight. It was near impossible not to pass close by other people, but as Gideo had said, all eyes were busy elsewhere.

A large crowd had gathered across the street from the prison, nearly choking off the path. The front doors of the prison were open and a group of Utunman Guards were standing atop the step, craning their necks for a clear view. Their red cloaks and bronze chest plates marked them out easily, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Vinie. None of them so much as glanced at their little group as they edged through the crowd.

Through a gap Vinie caught sight of the focus of everyone’s attention. A piper and a drummer were seated on the sidewalk, their tune that of the traditional CoinDancing repertoire. A lone dancer shimmied and twisted in the center of the clearing, the golden coins on their skirt and in their hair clinking together as they moved. Vinie was floored to recognize Sahar. Sahar never, ever performed anywhere but at formal events, and her presence was always a lauded and highly anticipated treat. CoinDancing was an ancient, almost sacred art. To perform in the streets like a common entertainer was completely unheard of.

It seemed everyone else was aware of the rarity of what they were seeing too, and the crowd continued to swell with each passing moment. When Sahar began to dance from her core, the toned muscles of her hips and stomach making the coins on her belt chime, a cheer went up even from the prison guards.

Gideo and Bakko led Vinie away from there without anyone so much as glancing at them. Once they were clear of the press of people, Vinie really began to feel the space. She had not had this much room to move in a decade, and it made her feel incredibly small. It was almost overwhelming, and she clung to her father’s arm like a terrified child. Bakko laid his hand over top of hers and kept it there, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.

Then they turned a corner, and there was the sea. It looked just as it had ten years ago. The docks, the little fishing boats and bigger merchant vessels, they were all there. The moon hung low and full, its silver light laying a path across the waves to the horizon. Everything was still here.

Except Zaneo. What had become of his body after that terrible day? Had he been properly buried at sea, his bones given to the ocean that was so much a part of him in life? Did her love lie somewhere out there, peaceful in the silence of the sea floor?

Suddenly Vinie was crying again, and this time she could not stop. Bakko’s grip on her hand tightened, and Gideo slid a supporting arm around her shoulders.

“We’re almost there now Vinie, it’s alright.”

With her father and Gideo on either side, the two men guided Vinie off the street and into a familiar building that smelled of strawberry candles. Gideo closed the door behind them and turned the wooden shades, casting the room into darkness. Soon he had a dozen of his little pink candles lit, and their flames hung like fireflies in the dark. With a candle in hand, Gideo led Vinie and Bakko upstairs to the living quarters above his SkinPainting shop.

It wasn’t until Vinie was settled on a whicker double-seat with a cup of strong coffee in her hand that she was able to start calming down. Bakko sat next to her, an arm protectively around her, holding on as though he never intended to let her go again. Gideo poured drinks for himself and Bakko before taking a seat on an overstuffed yellow bag filled with sand that molded to fit him. Together they sat surrounded by the light of strawberry candles and the clutter of everyday life, silently drinking coffee above Gideo’s shop.

Vinie found herself studying Bakko and Gideo closely. After so many years apart they were both intensely familiar and subtly different. Bakko seemed to have aged twenty years in ten. His gnarled hands, once so nimble and clever, painfully clung to Vinie’s. She could easily feel the bones of his shoulder as she leaned into him. His clothes were poor and patched too.

Gideo for the most part seemed much the same. The softness of youth was entirely gone from his face though, squaring his jaw and thickening his nose. There was a small scar above his right eyebrow that Vinie didn’t remember. Gideo no longer lounged with the easy comfort of a boy, but sat with his elbows propped on his thighs with his coffee mug in hand. When he met Vinie’s gaze though, the old twinkle was still in his soft brown eyes.

“Do you want to wash up?” he asked, setting aside his drink. “We went out and bought some things for you earlier. They should fit, I think.”

“Yas, thanks.”

Vinie gave Bakko’s hand one more squeeze before rising and following Gideo to the small wash room. Yet another strawberry candle flickered next to the wash basin, and a wooden tub sat at the ready, already filled with water.

Gideo stopped at the door. “Sorry, the water is probably cold by now. There are fresh clothes there.” He pointed at a little wrapped bundle on a stool.

Vinie fingered the brown paper and twine around the clothes. It must have taken all day to haul this much water upstairs for the tub. Nobody had shown her such kindness since the day she had been arrested. Words stuck in her throat, all sounding meek and useless.

“Vinie, I…” Gideo paused. The candlelight flickered, revealing dark stubble on his chin and cheeks. “I can’t even imagine what it was like in there. Whatever you need, anything at all, you just let us know, yas?”

“I don’t know what I need, Gideo.”

“Well, for a start you need some food. You got skinny, PearlDiver.” A hint of a grin quirked the corner of Gideo’s mouth. “With you gone, I had to learn to cook for myself. Almost poisoned myself a few times, but now it’s my turn to make dinner for you.”

Gideo was just turning to go when Vinie called after him.

“Gideo?”

“Yas?”

“You sure your cooking is safe?”

Now a real smile warmed Gideo’s face, just like they used to in the old days of their bantering back and forth with Zaneo and Sahar.

“Safe enough for this SkinPainter to live off of. Now take your bath, and take your time. We’ll be just outside.”

* * *

The water in the tub was tepid at best, but it felt like a dream come true to step into. Slowly Vinie used a soapstone to scrub away the dirt of the prison, layer by layer. She used up the entire bar of flowery smelling soap next to the tub. The water slowly turned darker and darker around her, as little by little Vinie rediscovered herself.

Gideo was right; she had gotten skinny. Hardly a spare ounce of either fat or muscle could be found anywhere on her entire body. She was practically skin and bones, and it was not a comfortable feeling. Her hair took forever to clean, and even longer to comb the tangling snarls out of. In the end, there were several knots that Vinie had to abandon all together. Perhaps she ought to just cut it all off and save herself the grief.

When Vinie finally stepped out of the bath and saw herself in the little pane of mirrored glass by the wash basin, she was almost frightened. The long years of darkness and hunger had changed her enormously. There was almost nothing familiar in her own reflection.

“Is that you, Vinie?” she asked herself.

Her eyes were unnaturally large and bright, staring at her with a feverish light in the candlelight. The bones of her face stood out prominently, leaving nothing to hide anywhere. Her chin was so razor sharp it could have been a beak. All the flesh and fat of childhood were gone, stripped away. A thin, unnervingly alert, almost elfin face stared back at Vinie. Even her nose and ears seemed more pointed than she remembered. Everything round and smooth about her had been replaced by sharp edges. Would Zaneo have even wanted to cuddle up to her now if he were alive to see her?

The black pearl shone darkly up at her from her sad little pile of discarded rags. It would be the one thing that she would keep of herself from all those years in prison. Bending down, Vinie retrieved the pearl and tied it on her brow, the leather cord tugging at her wet hair.

The clothes that Gideo and Bakko had bought her were slightly too large. No doubt they hadn’t expected her to have lost as much weight as she had. Still, they were clean and soft. Vinie stepped into the loose pants and cinched them in at the waist with a colorful belt made of woven beads. The sleeveless white shirt hung like a tent on her shrunken shoulders and chest, and Vinie was grateful to find a leather vest in the pile to cover the shirt with. The sandals, new and thick-soled, were the best gift of all. Fastening them on, Vinie stood and walked away from her tattered prison clothes and worn sandals, leaving them on the floor of the wash room where they lay.

When she came back out into the main room, she found not only Bakko and Gideo waiting for her, but also Sahar. Sahar still wore her CoinDancing outfit, as well as a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. When she saw Vinie her entire face filled with a mixture of wonder and shock. In an instant Sahar was on her feet and flying to wrap Vinie in a hug.

“Vinie, you brave, brave girl. You amazing, strong, wonderful woman,” Sahar whispered in her ear.

“Sahar.” Vinie was choking up again, and could only hug her best friend as tightly as she could in return.

Finally, she stepped back to get a good look at the woman who had been like a sister to her growing up. Sahar had a few extra curves now, a softness to her belly that hinted at the carrying and bearing of children. The CoinDancing outfit looked a bit tight on her, but Sahar wore it as proudly as she ever had.

“You dance better than ever,” Vinie managed to get out, still caught somewhere between laughing and crying. She had to dash away tears with the back of one hand.

Suddenly Sahar looked a little shy. “You think so? I haven’t done it in years.”

“The prison guards certainly thought so.”

Bakko spoke up from the double-seat where Vinie had left him. Gideo had lit a few oil lamps now, and the room had a close, comfortable glow to it. The scent of cooking fish wafted in from another room. Abruptly, Vinie realized just how hungry she actually was. It was powerful enough to almost make her sick.

Bakko held out his hand for Vinie, and Vinie went to her father. She sat down slowly, keenly aware of the throw rug beneath her feet, the smell of cooking food in the air, the touch of new clothes on her skin. This couldn’t be a dream; everything was too real, and here and now.

“How was your bath?” Bakko asked, hugging Vinie to his side once again. He kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of soap. “Eish, you smell like an apothecary.”

“Blame that on Gideo and his scented soap.” Vinie nuzzled in close to Bakko. “I’m afraid I may have to cut my hair though, there’s just no help for all the knots in it.”

“Oh yes there is!” Sahar exclaimed. “Here, let me see what I can do.”

Sahar came over and shooed Vinie down onto the rug. She replaced Vinie on the double-seat next to Bakko and settled Vinie between her knees before going to work on the tangles. As a child, Vinie remembered being jealous of how good Sahar was at braiding her own hair. Now she relaxed back against her friend’s legs and let her go to work.

“Baba?” Vinie asked.

“Yes?” Bakko leaned forward and Vinie heard a ripe pop from his spine.

“How did you do all of this? The guards, the cell door; are you a LockSmith now?”

Bakko smiled, his eyes full of a love that would never do anything less than anything for his only child.

“It took some planning, some time and some money. You remember the dog that came to see you?”

Surprised, Vinie nodded. “That was you?”

“That was Sahar. She trained the dog to carry things and to drop them off.”

“He’s a good dog, and smart too,” Sahar commented, bracing Vinie’s head as she teased at a particularly bad snarl.

“When you were taken, I…” Bakko swallowed, looking down at his leg. “…I couldn’t keep up the PearlDiving trade anymore. I was well on my way to becoming a beggar, and I was so angry at the world. I wouldn’t even let these two…” he nodded at Sahar and the kitchen where Gideo was, “…help me. I lost everything and was in bad shape for a long time. Then Sahar lost her patience with this foolish old man. She found me in an alley and dragged me back to live with her and her family.”

“When he says dragged, he means literally,” Sahar chuckled. “Your father is one of the most stubborn old coots to ever lurk behind the docks of Utunma.”

“Baba, why wouldn’t you let them help?” Vinie looked upon her wizened, aged father with new eyes. The years of poverty were clearly written in Bakko’s face.

“Because I’m a stubborn old coot, like she says. Sahar and Gideo made me find a new way to live. Eish, you would have laughed, Vinie, to see me apprenticed to a LockSmith and learning a trade at near on fifty years old! Anyways, the more I learned the more I got the idea to use what I knew to rescue you. Sahar, Gideo, and I, between the three of us we came up with a plan. Gideo spent a long time studying the prison guards, getting to know them and figuring out which ones could be paid off. He also found and painted that figurehead. I managed to get myself contracted to replace the old locks in the prison cells, and Sahar worked up the guts to break out that old dancing costume of hers!”

“You should have seen my husband’s face when I brought it out, never mind the faces of my two boys.” Sahar seemed to have finished combing, and was now at work carefully braiding Vinie’s long black hair. “My husband made me promise not to take it off until after I got home tonight.”

Vinie chortled. “I’m having a hard time imagining you married, Sahar, or you as a LockSmith, Baba, or even Gideo as a decent cook! Everything seems to have changed so much.”

“Not everything.” Sahar laid a warm hand on Vinie’s shoulder. Her smile suddenly turned sad. “There is still a Zaneo living in Utunma at least. We named our oldest after him, and he wants to be a shaman when he grows up.”

It seemed that Vinie was going to be doing a lot of choking up and crying today. With a lump in her throat, she reached up and took Sahar’s hand, squeezing it. The three of them sat together, drinking in each other’s company like parched desert wanderers.

Gideo appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, ducking through the strings of beads that curtained it off. He carried a steaming plate of fish and a bowl of what looked like shelled mollusks.

“Here we are; dinner.” Gideo set down the wooden plates on a low table in the middle of the room. “I promise that I sampled everything first, and here I still stand.” He bowed with a flourish. “Please, enjoy.”

“I still can’t believe that you can cook now, Gideo.” Vinie scooted closer, her stomach clenching with hunger. Tentatively, she reached out for a fish.

“Believe it, PearlDiver,” Gideo said with a wink.

For the first time that evening, a low ripple of laughter filled the room. One by one everyone took the plunge and sampled Gideo’s cooking. Sahar declared it acceptable, and Bakko dug in hungrily like a man still living on the streets. Vinie only managed a single fish and mollusk. Bakko reassured her that, like many other things, her appetite would return with time. Instead, Vinie was content to sit, leaning against her father and Sahar’s legs and listen to Gideo regale them with the story of how he had bartered the unpainted figurehead from a junked ship. It was an evening of warmth, company, and candlelight. When at last Vinie fell asleep against Bakko’s knee, she drifted off into the best rest she had had in ten long years.

* * *


	8. Beloved, Maybe

* * *

Jatheryn came up spluttering, cool water dripping down the nape of his neck to raise gooseflesh across his bare shoulders. Eyes closed, he fumbled for the nearby towel and buried his face in it. The pungent scent of dye was everywhere. It was the best quality that money could buy, and yet still the natural white of Jatheryn’s hair stubbornly kept wearing through only days after each dye.

Giving his head a vigorous rub, Jatheryn left the yellow-stained towel draped across the wash basin. He picked up his dark blue tunic from a nearby chair and pulled it on, taking care to avoid his wet hair. The day was still young, and outside birds sang in the lilac hedges. A light breeze stirred the curtains, shading the light pouring in from Jatheryn’s balcony. This was the perfect sort of morning for music.

Jatheryn’s viol leaned invitingly in the corner, the bow hung next to it. There were no pressing demands on Jatheryn’s time that morning, so he was only too happy to accept the call to play. He drew up a stool and took the instrument in hand, the body of the viol settled comfortably between his knees and the bow fitting into his hand like an old friend. Years of familiarity lay between himself and this viol. When he laid the bow to the strings and began a series of scales to warm up, it felt as natural as breathing.

The sound, so rich and spirited, seemed almost unfitting for the gilded surrounding of the Saurivic estate. Jatheryn imagined that the true home of a viol was on a mountainside in the hands of a simple bard, playing a jaunty little tune to welcome the sunrise. Following his thoughts, he leapt straight from his exercises into a gay melody about a farmer’s daughter and the sun.

Just as the bow in Jatheryn’s hand really began to dance across the strings, a knock came at the door to his rooms. A sigh of pure frustration escaped him. How could someone as lonely as him be so short on peace and privacy? With great reluctance Jatheryn set aside his viol and went to answer the door.

It was Jenni, Awenis’s maidservant. The doe-eyed girl hastily curtsied.

“Begging your pardon for the interruption, milord, but your lord father and lady mother asked me to call you downstairs. They await you in the library.”

“Very well. Thank you, Jenni,” said Jatheryn.

“Milord.” Jenni dipped her chin and turned to go. Pausing at the end of the hallway, she turned and looked back. “Your playing is very fine, Lord Jatheryn.”

“…Thank you.”

Tucking away the compliment from the servant girl, Jatheryn braced himself for the unknown and headed for the stairs. The libraries were on the far western side of the Saurivic estate, and it took several minutes to get there. Jatheryn made no attempt to hurry. By the time he was reaching for the dragon-shaped library door handles, he hoped he was sufficiently prepared for whatever it was his parents wanted to discuss. 

The Saurivic estate library was by far the oldest part of the building. Several times Tyene had tried to convince Jalborn to renovate and refurbish the library, but always Jalborn insisted history was happier in matching settings. Jatheryn wound through bookshelves of carven mahogany, their contents veiled under a fine layer of dust. Here were kept the records of the entire Saurivic line, all the way back to their founder, Taebor, youngest son of First King Amenthis himself.

There were also copies of famous poetry, original manuscripts, and architecture plans from the original estate design. Every generation of Saurivics added something of their own tastes to the estate, while simultaneously removing something of the previous generation. Jalborn had sworn sideways that nothing more would be changed while he was still head of the Saurivics. The shelves where renovation records were kept were looking particularly dusty. 

Echoes led Jatheryn to find his mother and father seated at a large round table in the center of the library. A sculpture of a mounted Vaelonese knight stood in the center of the table, the sharp wings on his helmet and the long point of his sword nearly buried under a multitude of skewered notes. Some long dead Saurivic had started the pile, and all the Saurivics to come after them had continued the tradition. Would the little knight ever buckle under the weight of all that paper?

Jahaelis and Rosarin sat with a roll of parchment unwound on the table between them. It was so long that the top had started rolling itself back up in order to keep the bottom on the table. The gold-leaf border of the parchment was faded, betraying the advanced age of the document.

“There you are, Jatheryn.” Jahaelis stood and moved the round lens which obscured the bottom of the parchment. “Come, tell me what you see here.”

Aware of his mother’s eyes on him, Jatheryn circled round the table to stand next to Jahaelis. Following his father’s finger, he recognized one of the oldest documents in their library.

“It’s the Saurivic family tree,” he answered, uncertain as to Jahaelis’s purpose.

“Look at it, see how far back its roots stretch? If our family were an oak tree, we would be so tall and vast by now as to block out the sun completely beneath our eves. Our line has carried on, unbroken, all the way from here…” Jahaelis pointed to the single name, written in faded calligraphy at the top of the tree; _Taebor S’aur R’vic_. “…all the way to now.” He tapped the freshest names at the bottom of the parchment; _Jatheryn Saurivic, Awenis Saurivic, Taevrin Saurivic, Myles Saurivic_.

Rosarin took a drink from her glass of water with lemon. “How does a tree grow?”

Jatheryn now saw where this was going, and answered with caution.

“Why, by putting out new roots and branches in the spring, of course.”

“The same is true of this tree, Jatheryn.” Jahaelis was looking at him with a kind of focused intensity that made Jatheryn want to squirm. He held his impeccable posture though. “Your twentieth birth day passed this winter, which makes you now officially of age in the eyes of Gorian law. Most youths in Vaelona have been long betrothed by this time, and even more make a dual celebration out of their twentieth b and their wedding day.”

Rosarin nodded as Jahaelis spoke. “You are the eldest grandchild of Jalborn, meaning you will be the head of the Saurivic family one day.” She grimaced and took another sip; no doubt one of her frequent sore throats. “But who will follow you as head? The law says that the title goes to the eldest of each generation. If you do not begin your family soon, Jatheryn, I fear your children will be passed over for the sake of the children of your cousins. Tyene is younger than Jahaelis, so surely you do not want to interrupt the succession of your father’s line.” 

Jatheryn had always known, growing up a son of the nobility, that marriage and heirs were in his future. It had always seemed somewhat further off in the future, as opposed to right now, though. For some reason, no one had ever pressed him on it until now either, despite the coming and going of his adolescence. Still, Jatheryn imagined kissing his beaming bride on their wedding day, and cradling his newborn son or daughter in his arms. If it was time for him to wed, he could not see any reason why he should be troubled about it.

“Of course not, Mother. You are right; I am of age and due for marriage. I…I am afraid I am not courting anyone at the moment though.”

“Well that went without saying,” Rosarin replied, massaging her throat and taking another sip.

Jahaelis however seemed pleased at Jatheryn’s acceptance. “I am glad you agree. That is why we have invited the Farakirns to dinner tonight, so you might continue your conversation with their daughter, Kendris.”

“Kendris Farakirn?” Jatheryn balked. Immediately Jahaelis’s handsome face folded in a stern frown. Thinking quickly, Jatheryn gestured to the Saurivic family tree where it unfurled on the table. “Father, as you said, our line has come unbroken all the way down from a son of King Amenthis himself. Surely the Farakirns are too, well, _common_ for a Saurivic to wed?”

Jahaelis’s angry glare faded, and Jatheryn breathed a private sigh of relief. Folding his arms across the chest of his ochre doublet and stroking his dark goatee, Jahaelis seemed deep in thought.

Rosarin, however, had a counter, as always. “Speaking realistically, Jatheryn, the daughters of the Tremaris and Iralar families are not available to you. You are intelligent, and thus surely know this. As Gendrew and Alais are always happy to mention, they have the social clout to marry their children into the royal bloodline itself.”

“Not the Tremaris or Iralar families then, but perhaps a middle-ranked family?” Jatheryn thought of Hadriel, with her magical laughter and blue-grey eyes that saw his very thoughts. “The Shakians, for example?”

Instantly Jahaelis’s expression hardened again. “You could do yourself a great service by forgetting about Hadriel Shakian. I saw how you looked at her during the Crowning Day greetings. A girl with beauty such as hers can wed as high as she and her family like. Randir told me not two days ago that Lord Penlor is even now looking to tempt King Mahir into negotiations for a betrothal between Hadriel and young Prince Hithon.”

Jatheryn decided right there on the spot that he hated that spoiled, coddled boy, Prince Hithon. He couldn’t be older than eleven, and yet the nobles of Goran were already seeking to match him with their brightest and most beautiful daughters; daughters like Hadriel.

“Do not look at us so. We are hardly suggesting you marry a farmer’s daughter from east of The Teeth,” Rosarin was saying. “The Erendors do not have any daughters near your age, and so the Farakirns are the best and only option among the nobility. Have you also considered that the Farakirns are up-and-coming, and a marriage between our two families could give us considerable influence over them in the future?”

Dumbly, Jatheryn nodded. Any enthusiasm he might have had for this idea of marriage had completely wilted away. He let his father and mother talk up the Farakirns for several long minutes before they dismissed him with strict instructions to be downstairs for dinner at five o’clock.

“And for the love of Amenthis, don’t wear any of those dark tunics tonight!” Rosarin called after him as he fled the library. “They do nothing for your color.”

* * *

That evening the members of the Saurivic family took up their posts in the greeting line as the Farakirn carriage pulled into the lane. The servants had just lit the lanterns, and fireflies had yet to gather in the twilight. Standing rigid-backed between Rosarin and Awenis in a gold trimmed tunic emblazoned with the Saurivic crest, Jatheryn wished he were anywhere but here tonight.

When the footman opened the carriage door the first out was Lord Waylon Farakirn. Once a banker, Waylon still dressed for the job in austere, sharp lines and no-nonsense colors. His stern, brooding expression did nothing to soften the overall impression of the man. Waylon’s wife, Lady Lizeth, on the other hand, was all plump softness and rosy cheeks. Jatheryn thought he had never seen a pair more mismatched. Behind them the rest of the family exited the carriage with a great and rather undignified clamor.

Waylon Farakin approached Jalborn at the door, bowing with military precision. “Lord Jalborn,” he said as he pressed two fingers to his lips briskly to initiate the traditional greeting. 

“Lord Waylon, welcome to our home.” Jalborn returned the gesture and met the other family head’s fingertips with his own. “I was pleased to hear that you accepted our invitation. How fortunate that your son and his family were also able to join us tonight.”

“Wasn’t it though? And after having had to miss your Crowning Day ball, it’s so nice that Harman and Cliodne could be here!”

Lady Lizeth jumped right into the conversation, not waiting until she reached the threshold. She beamed beneath her sparkling tiara. Waylon, clearly used to letting his wife dominate social exchanges, moved on down the line. He greeted Jahaelis and Rosarin briefly before stopping in front of Jatheryn.

“Your grandfather is a very impressive man, Lord Jatheryn. No doubt you’ll be waiting on becoming head of the Saurivics for some time if your father has half Jalborn’s stamina.”

“No doubt, Lord Waylon.”

Jatheryn exchanged greetings with Waylon, the other man’s fingers cool and hard against his own. Waylon’s granite grey eyes studied Jatheryn briefly before moving on to Awenis, Tyene, and her family.

After Waylon and Lizeth came their three children. First there was Harman Farakirn, the cause of his family’s rise into the nobility. His wife was Cliodne Iralar; together the two of them had caused a major scandal in Vaelona some eight years ago.

Cliodne, the willful second daughter of Gendrew and Alais Iralar, had gone to her father one evening and declared her intent to not only court, but marry the son of a banker. Gendrew of course had refused to even consider such a thing, the Iralars being by far one of the most powerful families in the Vaelonese nobility. To that Cliodne had calmly replied that she was with child, and would scream the name of the father in the streets, her reputation be damned.

Old Gendrew simply hadn’t had the heart to disinherit one of his beloved children, and so the engagement was announced. Conveniently, less than a month later, some long-lost records were found indicating noble ancestry in the Farakirn family tree. And so, the Farakirns had become the eighth noble family of Vaelona. Oddly enough, these rediscovered records were never publicly displayed, their authenticity only once verified in a private magistrate’s office. That little scandal within a scandal was a neverending source of entertainment to the gossip mongers.

Once Harman, Cliodne, their seven-year-old daughter Eslain, and infant son Kayden had walked the line, the two Farakirn daughters made their greetings. First was Kendris, looking nervous, if extremely well made-up. Clearly no expense had been spared on her gorgeous red silk dress with matching ruby necklaces and rings. Kendris spoke very softly when Jalborn welcomed her, and Jatheryn missed what she said. When she passed Jatheryn their exchange was so quick there was almost a breeze in her wake.

The youngest child of Waylon and Lizeth, fifteen-year-old Lady Ariel was far more alike to her charismatic brother than her shy sister. Ariel was not exactly a beauty with her wide teeth and freckled cheeks. Still, she smiled frequently in a way that narrowed her eyes into little slits, crinkled her nose, and lit up her whole face. Her wavy brown curls bounced with every step as she brought up the rear of the family procession.

From the front foyer, Jalborn led everyone into the dining room. The table was set with the finest gold-embroidered cloth and arrangements of red and orange ranunculus flowers. Dinner would be game hens with garlic and rosemary, and the scent was already wafting in from the kitchens. The servants had filled every goblet with rich red wine, and a linen napkin with the Saurivic crest on it sat folded on every plate. Rosarin and Jahaelis had taken great care in the planning of this dinner.

Once everyone was seated, Jatheryn went straight for his wine glass. Quaffing a fortifying sip, he took as much care as Kendris to avoid making eye contact. Down the table, Tyene smoothed her dark grey skirt and smiled at Cliodne Iralar.

“Ah, your little one is growing larger by the day. He must be nearly half a year now?”

Cliodne settled her infant son in a bassinet set to one side of the dining room before taking her seat. Her long coppery hair was held back off the shoulders of her burgundy gown by a string of pearls. At twenty-seven years old, Cliodne looked more like nineteen thanks to the dimple in her chin and thick black lashes that drove so many older women mad with jealousy. She nodded, then whispered something to her fidgety daughter, Eslain, before answering.

“Six months come the Autumn Equinox. I see him every day, and even so he continues to surprise me. Just the other morning he was rolling like a log when we tried to bathe him.”

Harman Iralar chuckled, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead.

“Infants are surprisingly able to make their wishes known, and Kayden it seems rarely wishes to have a bath.”

Harman, like his sisters, was not remarkably attractive, but just as with Ariel, there was some spark of charm about him that made him pleasant to look at all the same. He spoke with an animation that could only have come from his mother, Lady Lizeth.

“Have you moved to new rooms in the Iralar estate then, now that your family has added to itself once again?” Jahaelis asked. He unfurled his napkin and set the heavy gold ring off to one side. 

“Oh yes, Lady Alais insisted even before Kayden’s actual birth,” Harman replied. “I think she was hoping to get some peace and quiet in the aftermath of this second newborn.”

Cliodne raised an eyebrow at her husband, but her wry smile was more amused than disapproving.

“Nonsense! Mother loves having the children close at hand. With Gwynnis being so far away in Amenthere, it really is a shame that we do not see more of her and her family.”

Waylon set down his wine goblet in the exact spot from which he had lifted it.

“Such is the life of kings and queens; there is rarely time for pleasure visits, even to Vaelona. Lizeth and I on the other hand are fortunate to have our eldest close at hand, even if he has married up and abandoned our family name.” The Farakirn lord gave Harman a pointed look that badly concealed his approval. “Now headship of the Farakirns will fall to Kendris, unless of course she follows her brother’s example.”

Two seats down from her father, Kendris, visibly blushing, looked down at her plate. Jatheryn would have been just as pink if that were even possible for him.

“Yes, your son has done very well for himself and his family,” Tyene commented drolly, the oblique reference earning her a sharp look from Rosarin.

“As no doubt your daughters will too,” Jalborn said from the head of the table, smoothing things over instantly. 

The younger children, namely Myles and Elsain, were beginning to squirm as the scent of seasoned game hen grew stronger. They were saved from parental reprimands by the arrival of half a dozen servants, all carrying laden gold platters. Steam wafted from the green bean and parsnip side dishes to mingle with the candles. Little Kayden let out a squawk from beside the window, and Cliodne was just about to rise when Harman beat her to it. By the time everyone, infants included, were settled and ready to eat, Jatheryn’s mouth was actively watering.

“Lady Kendris, Jatheryn tells me that you have an interest in music?” Jahaelis disregarded his food for the moment, leaning forward encouragingly.

Jatheryn felt his stomach sink. He was about to be caught in his lie of having actually spoken to Kendris at all at the Crowning Day ball. The savory meat in his mouth instantly turned dry.

Kendris must have felt Jatheryn’s eyes on her for the first time that evening; briefly her gaze flickered towards him. Her full lips barely moving, she spoke in a low murmur.

“I do, Lord Jahaelis. Music is a…hobby of mine.”

Patting her daughter’s shoulder, Lady Lizeth beamed. “Kendris has taken harp lessons ever since she was old enough for her little fingers to reach the strings. Such a clever girl, she caught on straight away!”

“Do you play any instruments too, Lady Ariel?” Taevrin asked. He and Myles were sporting near identical dark red tunics that night. Jatheryn couldn’t help but feel satisfied when he noticed the oily sheen to Taevrin’s forehead. Was that sweet justice he heard knocking?

“Oh yes, many!” Ariel nearly knocked her wine glass over in her excitement. “The cello, the flute, the piano, and more besides that. Father wanted us to take lessons in mathematics, but I always found numbers so dull. It doesn’t have the life to it that notes and sound do.”

“ _Ahem_.” Waylon gave his youngest daughter a sharp look. Ariel quieted, but didn’t seem very abashed. “As Kendris was saying, she has indeed been musically trained. She has also excelled in all her lessons concerning accounting, geography, economy, history, philosophy, and natural sciences.”

“How excellent, a very learned young woman to be sure.” Jahaelis nodded. “Jatheryn likewise is quite studious, more than I ever was as a youth. Awenis gives him a real challenge when it comes to natural sciences, but in philosophy and economics he certainly excels.”

Jatheryn’s internal groaning grew in frequency and volume as dinner went on. The conversation settled into a back-and-forth volley of the Farakirns and Saurivics each talking up Kendris and himself in turn. He wondered just who was trying to convince who that this would be a good match. It felt like he and Kendris were a prize mare and stallion being paraded before potential breeders. Or perhaps their being two undesirable nags up for pawning off to each other was closer to the actual truth. At least the stallion would have a nice green open field to go back to after the fact.

* * *

After dinner, the young people were banished to the gardens “for a nice evening walk in the fresh air,” while the parents stayed inside, sitting and drinking more wine in the parlor. Harman and Cliodne left early, citing the need to have Kayden and Eslain in bed soon. Eslain waved goodbye at the door as they left, her little hand tucked into her father’s. Jatheryn wanted to wave back, but settled for smiling at the young family. Social protocol could be a real deuce sometimes.

Ariel and Kendris, Jatheryn, Awenis, Myles, and Taevrin headed out along the garden path, leaving their parents to their plotting. Fireflies were beginning to gather in the dark. They hovered like little stars around the hanging lanterns, which might as well have been suns to them. The night flowers were in full bloom, particularly the primrose and cereus. Their white petals stood out against their shadowed green-black leaves.

Jogging out a few steps ahead, Myles grinned at Kendris and Ariel. His blonde hair was starting to come out of the precise styling Tyene had subjected it to earlier.

“My cat, Lioness, had kittens just the other week. Five of them. Would you like to see?”

Ariel clapped her hands together with glee. “Yes! Do they have their eyes open yet?”

Gathering up her bright green skirts, Ariel scampered off with Myles toward the estate’s stables.

“Ariel, mind your dress,” Kendris called after her younger sister. It was the loudest Jatheryn had ever heard her raise her voice.

“They really are both too old to be acting so childish,” Taevrin commented, watching Myles and Ariel. He lifted his cleft chin imperiously. “Honestly, it is just another litter of cats. There will be another one just like it next year.”

“That’s rich coming from you, coz. You’re only half a year or so older than Lady Ariel! Why, just last spring you were even still picking your favorite kitten out from the batch and naming it.”

Awenis rolled her eyes. She was wearing glittery eye powder, just like what Bythnaryn Kilgorin had debuted the other day. Her pale blonde hair was done up in a somewhat older style than was her usual. Jatheryn noticed that his sister was also wearing new jewelry, namely a silver ring twisted into an eternity loop.

Taevrin gave Awenis a dirty look. “My sixteenth birth day is coming soon, and I know how to act my age. More importantly, I will be ready for coming of age when I get there.”

“What do you mean by that?” Awenis asked.

Kendris walked silently beside Awenis, as far away from Jatheryn as she could place herself. Jatheryn likewise was trying hard not to comment on how much less mature than other boys his age Taevrin still was. Anything to distract them from the true topic of the evening. No doubt the adults were negotiating terms and conditions back in the parlor even as they spoke.

“I mean I won’t be waiting around to start my own branch on the family tree,” Taverin said importantly. “I expect to be married on my twentieth birth day and not a minute later. Mother and Father have just about reached an agreement with Lord and Lady Kilgorin. Soon I’ll be betrothed to the Lady Bythnaryn.”

“Bythnaryn?” Awenis gaped. “She never told me anything about getting betrothed to _you_.”

“No doubt she wouldn’t have. Mother and Father only just told me this morning, so likely Lady Bythnaryn won’t have known until today as well. Our parents wanted to make sure everything was in order first.”

“Did your parents not ask you for your thoughts on the betrothal at all first?” Jatheryn asked.

“No, why? Lady Bythnaryn is beautiful enough, and the Kilgorin family is doing very well for a middle family. It’s a fair match.” Taevrin shrugged.

Watching his fifteen-year-old cousin acquiesce to a betrothal so casually almost made Jatheryn ashamed. What business did he have being picky, already of age and still unbetrothed as he was? Kendris was intelligent and a lover of music, two things that sat well with him. She was not near as beautiful as Hadriel Shakian, not even close. Still, time would pass and beauty would age. So long as he and Kendris could come to a personal understanding, maybe they could find enough happiness (or at least contentment) with one another to last one lifetime.

Gathering up his nerve, Jatheryn ducked around behind Taevrin and Awenis to place himself beside Kendris. She gave a little start as he sidled up next to her, goose pimples standing out on the pale flesh of her neck. Jatheryn did his best to smile in a friendly, non-threatening manner.

“Your mother said you play the harp, Lady Kendris?”

Kendris nodded, looking down at her feet in the dark as she walked. A firefly flew past her face, casting a glow across her features. She wasn’t beautiful, but perhaps one could call her pretty in such a moment.

“Yes, I had thought to apply to the Bardic College before we joined the nobility.”

“Truly?” Jatheryn asked encouragingly.

“That was before we became nobles though. Noblemen and women have no place in the performing arts, as you well know, Lord Jatheryn. Such a thing is apparently beneath us.”

“I have a hard time agreeing with that sentiment.” Jatheryn frowned, shaking his head. “When I hear a song played well, I think that there could be no higher calling.”

“You do?”

Kendris’s voice had been rising slightly in volume as they spoke of music. She chanced a direct, if brief, glance sideways at him. 

“I do. Lady Kendris...maybe…maybe if you and I…well, if we are betrothed to one another…perhaps we could play your harp and my viol together? Someday, when no one else is watching us?”

Kendris blushed so deeply that Jatheryn worried she could turn and run back to the house. He was just about to start stammering out a shoddy apology when she looked up again.

“I would like that, Lord Jatheryn.”

They turned a loop on the garden walkway and found Awenis and Taevrin waiting for them, bickering animatedly about Taevrin’s potential betrothal to Bythnaryn Kilgorin. Jatheryn and Kendris spoke no more to one another the whole way back to the house, but neither did they distance themselves. Jatheryn spent the whole time in quiet thought. Perhaps this could work. It would not be the happily ever after that little children hear about in storybooks and songs, but it might be the start of something good. Jatheryn Saurivic, head of the Saurivic family, husband and father, maybe?

* * *


	9. A Powder Keg

* * *

“Vinie, come away from there!”

With a sigh, Vinie turned the wooden window slats and retreated back toward the center of the room. She had been watching the bustle of the streets outside Gideo’s shop with unrestrained fascination. After ten years in the dark it was like discovering a whole world that was both new and old. Still, Bakko was right to be worried.

“Sorry Baba, I couldn’t resist.”

The anxious look on Bakko’s wrinkled face eased somewhat into one of sympathy. Taking her hand, he led her further still away from the window.

“I know my girl, I know. You can’t be seen though, neither of us can. The entire city is crawling with the Utunman Guard.”

Before dawn that morning they had been jolted from sleep by a distant ringing of alarm bells. Apparently Gideo’s painted figurehead hadn’t made it past morning head count. Now there seemed to be soldiers all over the streets outside. Every few minutes a different group would jog past.

“Don’t worry, things will die down soon enough,” Gideo had reassured them before going downstairs to open up his shop. “We just have to keep our heads down and keep unwelcome attention at bay.”

On a certain level, Vinie supposed it was a good thing that she had to stay hidden away indoors. Even the meager sunlight that peeked through the window slats was hard on her overly sensitive eyes. If she were free to go out and about in the town, Vinie doubted she would be able to hold herself back from running down to the seaside in all its sunlit glory. Still, sitting in Gideo’s apartment all day was not exactly the freedom she’d dreamed of.

She and Bakko passed by time by talking, getting to know one another as father and daughter after a decade apart. Sitting cross-legged on Gideo’s overstuffed sand chair, Vinie eagerly grilled Bakko for every possible piece of news regarding their friends and acquaintances. Bakko only asked her once about her time in prison. When Vinie hesitated to talk about the long, empty years alone he never pressed her on it again.

Around noon there came a bark from the street. Unable to resist, Vinie leapt to her feet and rushed to the window.

“Careful…” Bakko warned.

Lifting a single wooden slat with her finger, Vinie peered down into the street. A shaggy yellow dog was standing outside the door of Gideo’s shop; the very same dog which had visited her in the prison.

“I think its Sahar’s dog,” Vinie exclaimed.

“Smart of her to send the dog instead of coming herself.” Bakko came to stand beside Vinie, peering over her shoulder. “She took an awful risk, dancing like that last night. We can’t have her showing up around here when she could be recognized.”

Vinie watched through the window as Gideo stepped out onto the stoop of his shop. Kneeling down, he grabbed the mutt’s head in a playful embrace, scratching at its jowls. The dog’s tail wagged back and forth so forcefully its entire back end wiggled. Gideo gave the dog’s chin a quick scratch. He then straightened up and the dog went trotting off to lie down in the shade. Vinie saw Gideo stick something into his belt before ducking back inside.

“Eish, what does it say?”

Vinie wanted so badly to run downstairs and accost Gideo right on the spot. From the sounds of things, he had a customer in at the moment. Frustrated but helpless, Vinie had no choice but to let Bakko talk her into sitting back down. Sipping on strong peppermint tea provided some distraction after nothing but bland seafood porridge for ten years. Still, the wait felt endless.

When footsteps finally creaked on the stairs, Vinie scrambled to stand. Gideo’s mop of curly hair appeared, followed by an uncharacteristic frown. His SkinPainting gloves were still on, putting blotches of ink on the scrap of parchment as he held it out.

“News from Sahar?” Bakko asked as Vinie nearly tore the smelly roll of paper open.

Gideo nodded. “Yas, and not good news I’m afraid. I’m sorry Bakko, but the guard went through your place. Tore it apart pretty thoroughly from the sounds of things too.”

“Don’t be sorry! That little hovel wasn’t a home, just a hole to sleep in. I’m well rid of it, to be honest.”

Vinie still felt her throat tighten as she read more of the note from Sahar aloud.

“‘The guards stopped by to question us this morning. Thankfully my husband covered for me. He confirmed that I was at home with him and the boys last night, and for good measure I put on an act of being ill. They’re going door to door looking for Vinie. You’ll have to be careful. You too, Gideo. They know that Vinie had help escaping and that figurehead was too heavy for Bakko to have carried alone. Stay inside. I will try to get another message to you later tonight.’”

Rolling up the parchment, Vinie looked up at her father and Gideo.

“You’ve all put yourselves in danger for my sake, haven’t you?”

“Shush, none of that!” Bakko waved a bony hand. “I haven’t slept a night ever since they took you from me. There was no living again until you were out of that place.”

A knocking came from downstairs, sharp and authoritative. The three of them all gave a start. Gideo quickly held a finger to his lips, his brown eyes wide.

“Stay up here and don’t make a sound. I’ll handle that.”

Quiet as mice, Vinie and Bakko crept into the small closet beside Gideo’s bedroom. It was a terribly tight squeeze, and they ended up a jumble of limbs in the dark. Trying to keep even their breathing down, they listened through the floorboards to the conversation downstairs.

“Hullo there, and what can I be doing for you boys today? Vanti, I thought I just touched up your latest design the other morning?”

“We’re not here for business, SkinPainter. We’re looking for an escaped prisoner, a woman by the name of Vinie PearlDiver. You used to be friends with her and her husband, yas?”

Gideo’s cheery voice firmed up slightly. “I _was_ friends with her husband, Zaneo. Really only knew her through him, to tell you the truth. You say she’s escaped?”

“Last night, and she had help. Help from someone good with a paintbrush too, by the looks of things.”

“Well, wish I could help you, but as you can see, I’m fresh out of brushes. Just needles here, unless you want a ‘regret proof’ job?”

The guard did not laugh at the joke. Instead the voice became sterner than ever.

“Where were you and what were you doing last night?”

“I was down at the Skinny Dipper, having a ginger beer with the boys. You can ask anyone and they’ll tell you the same.”

“He’s not lying,” Bakko whispered, quiet as a breath in Vinie’s ear. “Right up until the hour we rescued you he was at the inn, pretending to get good and drunk.”

“You look pretty fresh for someone who’s had a rough night on the town,” the guard was saying downstairs.

“Thank you! It takes years of practice and hard work.”

Vinie could have giggled if she wasn’t so petrified. Every beat of her heart hammered in her ears like a drum, made even worse by the close space of the closet.

“You’ll have to let us look around inside your shop, SkinPainter. Step aside; we have to search all the homes of people who were close to the escapee.”

Vinie’s heart dropped. She heard her father draw in a sharp breath next to her.

“Be my guest if you want to, but you’ll just be making my day and yours all the longer. You’ll have to take the time to search the mess this place is, and I’ll have to take the time to put it back together. All that sounds to me like far too much effort over someone who was married to someone I knew more than ten years ago. I don’t know about you boys, but I have better ways to spend my day, namely inking my paying customers. I’m sure you have better ways to look for the PearlDiver too. Did you call on her mother in Danitesk?”

“She doesn’t have a mother in Danitesk, does she?”

“By the-!” Vinie could have filled in any number of curses for Gideo there. “Honestly, do the magistrates even _read_ the town records? Zaneo told me so himself; his wife’s mother was living apart from her father in Danitesk after her father told her mother’s mother that she had the attitude of a pelican. Well, according to Zaneo that was a fight the likes of which Bakko’s neighbor said-”

“Enough! We’ll check your information with the city magistrate. Go back to your business…for now.”

There was a jingling of bells at the front door, then silence from downstairs. Vinie heard a long breath exhaled; a sigh of relief from Gideo.

To Vinie and Bakko’s chagrin, they realized there was no way to open the closet from the inside. They had no choice but to wait until Gideo came upstairs to free them. When finally the door opened, the two of them fell out in a tangle of arms and legs. Vinie’s back ached where her father’s bony knee had been pressing into it.

“That was closer than a seaweed wrap,” Bakko remarked, pulling himself to his feet with several loud pops from his joints. He paused, then gave Gideo a slow smirk. “The attitude of a pelican?”

Gideo shrugged and grinned. “It sounded like something you’d say, Bakko.”

“Yas, but not to my wife’s mother, the sea rest her bones. You did good, boy.” Bakko had to reach up to clap Gideo on the shoulder.

“They’ll find out it was a lie though once they get to the magistrate,” Vinie said. “They’ll be coming back here for sure.”

She went to the window once again, longing to pull open the shutters and stand in the light. Down on the streets she could see the red cloaks and bronze chest plates of the Utunman Guards as they walked away. A chill went down her spine despite the heat of the day, and she hugged herself.

“So they will. I guess we’ll just have to make our next move before that then.”

Gideo peeled off his painting gloves and tossed them onto a chair. Brushing back a handful of curls off his forehead, Vinie saw the sheen of sweat there. So he had been nervous after all.

“And what is our next move?” Bakko asked.

“I have to leave,” Vinie answered, cutting off whatever Gideo had been about to say. “Tonight, before the guards come back. I can’t be here when they demand to search your place, Gideo.”

“ _We_ have to leave,” Bakko said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere without me ever again, girl. We could go to Moaan. It’s a big city, easy to lose a dozen people in, never mind two.”

“Make that three.”

When Vinie stared at Gideo he half smiled. “I don’t think I should be here either when those guards get back. Vanti won’t be pleased when he finds out that I lied to him.”

“But Gideo…” Vinie gestured around at the crowded space, saturated with the scent of strawberry candles. “What about your shop? You’ve built this place up so much.”

“And what am I going to do, stay here painting skin until I’m as wrinkled and grey as your father? No offense.”

“None taken,” Bakko said with raised eyebrows.

“What I mean is, do you really believe I would prefer to stay here, wondering if the two of you even made it to Moaan in one piece? Or filling the vacancy in your old cell is more likely, once Vanti returns. If you think I’m going to send you and your father on the run with blown kisses from the doorstep, you’ve got another thing coming, PearlDiver.”

For a long minute the three of them stood staring at one another. Then Vinie’s shoulders relaxed and she tugged at her braid with a smile.

“Alright, the three of us. I guess you won’t be a SkinPainter anymore then, and I won’t be a PearlDiver.”

“I could teach the two of you locksmithing, and we could open up a shop in Moaan?” Bakko offered. With a grimace, he sat down on Gideo’s wicker bench and started massaging his bad leg.

Vinie suddenly found herself shaking her head. The memory of her last days in prison came rushing back, particularly memories of her fractured map. She didn’t know what her future looked like, but it didn’t look like locksmithing.

“Actually, I had another idea. It came to me while…while I was in the prison. It may sound crazy. I know I was half crazy when I thought of it.”

“What idea?” Gideo asked.

Vinie took a deep breath. She looked back and forth between her father and Gideo. What if they thought she had gone mad during her time in prison? What if she really had?

“I spent a lot of time thinking about why I was in there, why Zaneo and the others were dead. It all kept coming back to Amenthere. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now if southern Goran wasn’t even part of Goran. What if…” Vinie paused. “…what if Obads could be trained in their homelands? What if the south could write its own laws?”

“How? You don’t mean…like a separate country?”

Gideo sounded incredulous, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her properly. Bakko looked afraid. His cloudy eyes kept darting toward the windows.

“Yas, a new country! We could have our own laws, our own Magicol, our own kings and queens! No one could come here from the capital to bully us anymore. The south would govern the south, as it should be.”

“Keep your voice down!” Bakko exclaimed, rushing to lift a shutter and check that no one was listening from the street below. The light cast striped shadows across his dark face.

“This is treason to even talk about,” Gideo said slowly. Then he grinned. “I like the way it sounds.” 

“Will you like it as much when they’re cutting off your head for it too?” Bakko went to Vinie’s side and clutched at her arm. “I just got you back. Now isn’t the time for wild dreams. We need to find some place safe where we can disappear and be forgotten.”

“I don’t want to disappear and be forgotten!” Vinie cried. She snatched up her father’s hand and squeezed it. “Goran took ten years away from us, and took Zaneo away forever. They would have done that earlier too, if Kor and Irem had turned him over as the law said they had to. I don’t want anyone to ever have to make that choice again. You rescued me from that prison, but none of us are free, don’t you see? We can’t be free, we can’t _live_ with the shadow of Amenthere hanging over our heads like an axe.” She looked beseechingly into Bakko’s misty eyes. “Baba, I know what I want to do now. I have to do this, for my sake and for everyone else like me or Zaneo. I can’t just disappear; I’ve already been invisible for ten years. No more.”

A tear escaped the corner of Bakko’s eye, running into the deep lines in his skin. Bakko squeezed Vinie’s hand tight.

“I can’t be parted from you again, so I’m with you forever, my pearl.”

Gideo approached and laid a hand on Vinie’s shoulder. His broad hand seemed even bigger on her narrow frame.

“I’m with you too. I loved Zaneo, and I never stopped wondering how he could have been saved. If you’re going to save others like him, and you, then I want to help.”

With a fierce, bright smile and a nod, Vinie gripped tight to Gideo’s hand with her free hand.

“Thank you.”

* * *

They made their plans to escape Utunma as quickly as they possibly could. Gideo sent the yellow dog back to Sahar with a scribbled note outlining what they needed. Bakko and Vinie packed their few belongings into cloth sacks, supplemented heavily by what Gideo insisted they take from his own belongings.

They also studied a map of shipping routes along the coast. To get to Moaan they would need to follow the coastline northeast to the Bay of Torbos. It would be further than Vinie had ever been from her hometown before. The thought of Moaan, with its famous ports and great golden domes, excited her more than she had even expected. That or perhaps knowing they were wanted and could be discovered at any moment was making her nervy.

Once night fell, Gideo led the way down the back steps from the upper level of his shop. He closed and locked the door behind them. Through the window, Vinie could see a single pink candle left burning on the counter.

“Let’s just take this nice and easy,” Gideo murmured as they turned down the alley and onto the street. “Nothing to draw attention to us, just a stroll all the way down to the harbor.”

“Stroll on then,” Vinie whispered back.

She wore a wide brimmed hat pulled down right over the top of her face and a burlap jacket which swum on her shrunken body. Next to her, Bakko hung heavily on her arm in an effort to hide his limp as he walked.

They walked in silence together, Vinie and Bakko staying behind Gideo as he casually meandered down the street. Lamps flickered on the buildings that they passed, and the scent of fish was everywhere. A dog howled somewhere far off in the town. Someone opened a window overhead and dumped out a bucket of waste water, narrowly missing Vinie and Bakko. They skittered out of the way like a pair of nervous crabs, and Bakko’s grip tightened as he nearly missed a step.

All seemed to be going well. The streets were empty of all the daily traffic, with only the evening crowd out and about. They passed the Skinny Dipper on their way to the harbor. The warm glow from the windows and the sound of fiddle music inside was inviting. Gideo led them across the street as they passed through; he was too regular a patron to risk being spotted.

“Hey there, Gideo! Not coming in for a drink?”

Gideo’s shoulders instantly stiffened. It was Vanti, leaning in the doorway of the Skinny Dipper with a mug of ale in hand. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, but spoke no less loudly than he had earlier.

Slowly Gideo turned around. Vinie and Bakko kept on walking straight though, pretending not to have been with Gideo in the first place.

“Not tonight, Vanti. Got errands to run I’m afraid.”

“I ran my own errands today too.” Vanti set down his mug, and seemingly on cue a pair of fully uniformed Utunman Guards appeared on either side of him in the inn doorway. “Went to the city magistrate and learned a thing or two. Who’re your pals there? Wife of an old friend, yas?”

Gideo spun around and called out to Vinie and Bakko’s backs.

“Run!”

All of the nerves that had been building in Vinie throughout the day exploded into action. Seizing her father’s hand, she sprinted down the street. The stones were damp with humidity beneath her sandals, almost slippery. Her hat came off and she kept running.

Bakko was gasping and wheezing already beside her, his grip on her fingers numbing. His limp was making itself known with a vengeance.

“Leave me and go!” he cried, suddenly trying to drop Vinie’s hand.

“No!”

Vinie kept trying to tug Bakko along, but he abruptly came to a halt.

“Go!”

Suddenly a tall figure bounded around Bakko in the street. Gideo grabbed Bakko’s bony wrists in both hands and threw them up around his neck.

“Go Vinie, I’ve got him!”

Bakko’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he locked his arms in the hollow of Gideo’s neck and held on. Grunting with the effort, Gideo straightened up and took off running full tilt after Vinie, with Vanti and the other guards right on his heels.

“It’s her, it’s the PearlDiver! Stop them!”

Shouting followed them down the street faster than they could run. Doors were beginning to open further down and heads were poking out of windows. Soon there would be people everywhere.

“Quick, up onto the rooftops!” Vinie shouted, running for a pile of barrels outside a single-story building.

She scrambled up as fast as her legs and arms could possibly go. As soon as she was up on the stone roof, she looked back to help Gideo and Bakko. Gideo gritted his teeth, the muscles of his forearms straining with the effort of lifting two men. They just barely managed to pull him up and over before Vanti could grab hold of one of his legs.

“Get back here! We know where you live!”

“Not anymore,” Gideo half laughed, half gasped as they dashed across the rooftop.

It was tricky going. The rooftops were mercifully flat, but clearing the spaces between buildings forced them to make dangerously long jumps. The guards gave chase along the streets below, their shouts echoing down the alleys.

With Vinie in the lead, she began to try something new. Rather than head straight and clean for the harbor, she darted this way and that from roof to roof. Gideo and Bakko sometimes split from her, taking routes with shorter jumps. They ran back and forth like alley cats, dark silhouettes against the starry sky.

The deep blue-black of the sea at night caught Vinie’s eye, and she realized that they were nearly there. She could still hear shouting coming from below in the streets, but it was further away than it had been before. A bubble of panic in her throat, Vinie spun around in a circle. Where were Gideo and her father?

“Vinie, over here!”

Someone called out to her from a few rooftops over. Vinie saw Gideo’s curly head of hair sticking up in the dark from over the edge. Light-headed with relief, she jogged over to where Gideo and Bakko were standing on a pile of red and yellow painted barrels stacked against the side of the building.

When her feet touched down, the damp wood of the docks met her. They had made it to the harbor. Sahar was waiting there, the yellow dog at her side.

“This way, quickly!” Sahar waved them on.

Together the four of them hurried along the pier in the dark. The jet-black waves lapped at the hulls of the boats at anchor, their prows making soft clapping noises as they rose and fell. 

One craft, a dhow sat anchored a short way apart from the rest at the end of the pier. Vinie dumped hers and Bakko’s packs onto the deck as the men set to work untying the boat. The size and shape of the dhow pricked at Vinie’s memory, and an invisible fist squeezed at her heart.

“Sahar…is this…?”

Sahar smiled softly in the dark. “Yours and Zaneo’s dhow. I kept it safe for you, and your father insisted he would never sell it.” 

“You can’t come with us, can you?”

Sahar shook her head.

“No, I can’t. If you were asking me from ten years ago though, the answer would be yas without a thought.”

Vinie opened her arms and pulled Sahar to her in a fierce hug. She couldn’t imagine when she would ever see her oldest and best friend again.

“Take care of yourself, and your family too,” she choked out.

“You be careful out there. Don’t sto—”.

“Stop there!”

Everyone jerked away from what they were doing. A flash of bronze at the edge of the harbor confirmed their fears; the Utunman Guards had caught up to them.

“Go! Go!”

Sahar pushed Vinie across the rail of the boat so forcefully she tripped and fell to the deck. Leaning over, she pushed off the boat from the pier. Gideo and Bakko pulled out oars, and Vinie scrambled to get the sail untied. They couldn’t hope to catch a good strong breeze until they were out of the harbor. If the guards got into their swift little cutters to pursue them there would be no chance.

Looking back over her shoulder Vinie just barely caught sight of Sahar running back down the dock, her dog galloping along beside her. From a side street, guards were pouring forth, and many were already running for their two-man boats.

“Get us out into open water!” Vinie shouted to Gideo and Bakko. Her fingers flew through the knots in the dark.

“Trying!” Gideo grunted.

His and Bakko’s shoulders were both straining with effort, Gideo’s broad biceps and Bakko’s lean arms cording in the moonlight. Vinie saw the first of the cutters prepare to leave the dock.

Suddenly, a flash of light brighter than a hundred torches cut the night followed by an ear shattering boom. Vinie’s sensitive eyes instantly flared up in agony, and she had to throw an arm in front of her face. Through the sackcloth of her jacket she could feel the heat. A wave reached them out in the middle of the harbor, lifting the prow of the dhow and pushing it out to sea.

Bakko let out a crow, waving his arms and jumping up and down on the bench.

“She lit the kegs! Do you see that, she blew them right up!”

“Yas, Sahar!” Gideo stood up and pumped a fist in the air. The light of the explosion gleamed bright and hot in his eyes and in his triumphant smile.

Standing at the mast watching bits of debris rain down like fire from the sky, Vinie felt a deep sense of something shifting.

 _When they tell the story of how a new world began, it will start with tonight, and fire on the water_ , she thought. Then she pulled the last knot free and dropped the sail. A breath of night air off the sea caught it, and the dhow lifted its nose to horizon. Soon the current would be with them, and they’d be on their way out into the world.

* * *


	10. Perfect Never Lasts

* * *

A fly buzzed lazily through a sunbeam where it fell across the pages of Jatheryn’s book. The little insect continued its circuit around the study, seeming almost curious. Finally, it settled on one of the oaken wall panels and became lost in the dark patterns of stained wood. Rubbing its little hands together gleefully, the fly paid no mind to the higher intellectual pursuits of the study’s other three occupants.

Jatheryn and Awenis sat at a long table side by side, their handwritten notes and heavy texts starting to spread and merge together in the middle. The pages bearing Awenis’s handwriting were an endless stream of graceful, looping swirls and lines. Jatheryn’s notes stood as regimented as soldiers on the page, each letter perfectly at attention and meticulously dotted or crossed. Both sat with their quills hanging in midair beneath their chins, listening intently to their tutor. 

“It is a common misconception among the common folk that the Amenthis Three were biological siblings,” Mistress Morendial was saying, her half-moon glasses resting precariously on the end of her nose. “First King Amenthis, Sei Aryna, and Wal Anders were in fact completely unrelated. In his youth, Amenthis was a wanderer with a taste for adventure, as you well know. It was in his travels that he met both Aryna and Anders for the first time. Aryna hailed from the northern reaches of what was to become Goran; deep within the Night Forest, to be precise. Anders likewise was born on the eastern coast. Amenthis was the one who first inspired the other two to unite humankind and banish the ancient monsters of the land. Awenis, would you be so kind as to tell me how this was accomplished?”

Awenis perked up so suddenly that Jatheryn wondered if she’d been daydreaming. Thumbing the infinity ring on her index finger, she answered promptly enough to save herself from a lecture.

“They enlisted the help of the Obads, and through their magic defeated the world’s demons.”

Mistress Morendial frowned, but nodded. She had been giving Jatheryn and Awenis their educations since they were old enough to talk, and likely knew them better than even Jahaelis and Rosarin. The tall, silver-haired matron was knowledgeable on a range of subjects, spotting daydreaming being her primary major. For the time being she let her pupil escape with a narrow-eyed warning.

“Correct, and Jatheryn, can you tell me the significance of this partnership?”

Jatheryn sat up even straighter to answer, and became aware of his sister’s slouching by comparison in her chair. Gently he pressed his foot overtop of hers beneath the table. It wasn’t like Awenis to be distracted during their lessons.

“It was the beginning of the bond between the Obads’ Magicol and the throne of Goran. The first Obads were little more than shamans, charmers, wise women, and elders. However, the Obads were able to talk to the creatures of old, and manipulate the world around them in ways their ordinary counterparts could not. Amenthis, Aryna, and Anders convinced the Obads that the world needed to be made safe for humankind to blossom. Together with their armies and the Obads, the Amenthis Three cleared the land of danger. On the second of July, in the first year ‘After Amenthis’, - or ‘A.A’ by shorthand - Amenthis was crowned First King, and Goran was born.”

Mistress Morendial’s satisfaction was plain to see. Jatheryn loved his studies for many reasons, but chief among them was they provided a rare opportunity for personal success.

“Excellent. Now as you said, Amenthis was crowned First King and ruled over Goran as a whole. However, there was a need for more regional governance as well. Therefore, Aryna returned to her homeland in the north, where she became the first Sei of the North. Anders likewise withdrew to the east after the Founding Wars, taking the title of Wal of the East. Now these titles have since fallen out of use…”

As Mistress Morendial launched into a discourse on the shifting of eastern politics, Jatheryn couldn’t help but notice Awenis out of the corner of his eye. Normally Awenis was just as attentive, if not more so than him when it came to their studies. Today her pale gold eyes settled on the little fly from the sunbeam and followed its journey around the room. The tiny creature settled on a brass astrolabe on a pedestal off to one side of the study, leaving Awenis’s gaze well and truly off of their teacher. Jatheryn pressed on her slipper again with his shoe, trying to wake his sister back to the lesson.

“Awenis!”

Instantly, Awenis jerked upright, nearly upsetting a bottle of ink onto the lap of her lilac purple gown. Jatheryn shot out a hand quick as lightning to steady the bottle, getting drops of ink on his hand instead.

“Will you kindly ke—”

Mistress Morendial was interrupted by an almighty roar from downstairs, somewhere in the mansion. Everyone stiffened, Mistress Morendial looking completely at a loss for words. Then the shout came again, just barely coherent this time.

“JATHERYN!”

All the blood instantly rushed from Jatheryn’s head, to be replaced by a dull roaring sound. He couldn’t imagine what he had possibly done to arouse such audible anger in his father. The last time Jahaelis had ever shouted at anyone like that was six years ago. A newly hired servant girl had mocked Rosarin’s withered appearance behind what she thought were closed doors.

Eyes wide and pale pink lips hanging open in shock, Awenis turned around in her chair to look at him.

“You had better go, quickly,” she whispered.

“Yes, before your father calls again,” Mistress Morendial added, sounding more frazzled than Jatheryn had ever heard her. “Such dreadful shouting from a Saurivic lord, entirely impolite…”

Moving as if in a dream, Jatheryn slid back his chair across the polished floor and stood. Dimly he was aware of Awenis also rising to follow him out of the study and down the main staircase.

The servants were clustered nervously near the kitchen doors. They eyed Jatheryn and Awenis as they passed with something akin to pity. Anxiety was a palpable force in the air, making even the roses in the alcoves at the front entrance appear to wilt.

They found their father in the drawing room. Jahaelis stood with a freshly opened letter in his hand and a dark, unreadable expression on his face. Rosarin leaned against the opposite doorframe with a hand to her heart. Her gaze when it fastened on Jatheryn was oddly contorted.

“Read it.”

That was all Jahaelis said as he thrust the letter toward Jatheryn. Gingerly, as if afraid the smooth white paper would bite him, Jatheryn did as he was told.

“‘Lord Jahaelis and Lady Rosarin Saurivic,

Myself and the rest of the Farakirn family were honored to have been invited to dinner at your magnificent estate two days’ past. We wish to express our honest appreciation for your hospitality, as well as our well wishes for your family’s everlasting prosperity.

With regard to your proposed betrothal of your eldest son, Lord Jatheryn Saurivic, to my daughter, Lady Kendris Farakirn, I fear Lady Lizeth and I must reject such an offer on her behalf.

After much discussion between the members of our family, we the Farakirns have come to the conclusion that such a marriage would not be in the best interests of the bride or the bridegroom, as well as any potential heirs they might produce. Lord Jatheryn’s condition demands my consideration as a possible father to mine and Lady Lizeth’s future grandchildren. We have weighed the risks, and deemed them unacceptable.

I do hope that you, as a father and mother yourselves, will understand.

Best and respectful regards,

Lord Waylon and Lady Lizeth Farakirn’” 

His white eyes flashing from line to line, Jatheryn felt a growing sense of something heavy in his gut. Was it shame, guilt, the sting of rejection? Was it relief that he would not be marrying Kendris Farakirn after all? Was it a mixture of all of these things? Whatever it was, the feeling gathered and settled like a loadstone within him. When he reached the end of the letter, it was one of the hardest things he had ever done to look his parents in the eye.

“So,” Jahaelis said, accusing.

“So…the Farakirns have rejected a betrothal,” Jatheryn tried to speak calmly, but it came out rather strangled instead.

“THE FARAKIRNS HAVE REJECTED A SAURIVIC!” Jahaelis exploded. He snatched back the letter so fast it tore, leaving Jatheryn with a corner caught in his grip. “Rejected an heir to the line descended straight from Amenthis himself! Commoners, masquerading as nobles, rejecting you!” Jahaelis stabbed a finger at Jatheryn like a sword. “Unacceptable, that is what they call you! What else do they call us behind our backs? Diseased, fouled, cursed?”

“Father, I-” Awenis tried to interrupt. She was almost as pale as Jatheryn after Jahaelis’s tirade.

“For months now we have wheedled, flattered, and entreated, trying to find suitable betrothals for the two of you. You have no idea!”

Jahaelis was in an incredible rage now. He swung about suddenly, sweeping a porcelain dish off a side table. It fell to the rug and shattered, tiny white fragments skittering away under the nearest couch in search of refuge.

“We have pleaded with the Kilgorins, the Shakians, the Belryns, the Erendors, and now the Farakirns, and nothing!” Jahaelis rounded on Jatheryn. “You sulk at us when we try to speak to you of marriage, fume when we tell you the girl you hopelessly pine over is impossible. You think we did not try to win you Hadriel Shakian? For ages your mother and I tried to entice the Shakians into considering even just a courtship! We browbeat them with the entire noble history of the Saurivic family line! And do you know what Lord Penlor said to us?”

Jatheryn couldn’t speak. He just shook his head in mute misery.

“He said ‘I wouldn’t entrust the jewel of my family to your ghost of a son for the entire treasury of Castle Armathain.’” Jahaelis sneered. “You might as well be a ghost. You sit in your room all day, playing melancholy music and refusing to even pretend at being a proper nobleman. How you choose to spend your wretched existence is less like living and more like haunting!”

“What in the name of Amenthis is going on in here!?”

Lord Jalborn strode straight into the middle of the room, jaw set in thunderous anger fit to match the lightning in his gaze. The head of the Saurivic family went toe-to-toe with his son, his authority equaling out the height he had lost with age. Jahaelis stared right back at his father, the vein in his temple pulsing.

It was Rosarin who tearfully explained.

“The Farakirn family has rejected a betrothal for Jatheryn,” she croaked, her voice even more hoarse than usual. Her face was screwed up like she ought to be crying, except her eyes had no moisture to spare. “They deemed him ‘unacceptable’, him, a Saurivic!”

Jalborn blinked once, slowly, like a lizard. His eyes slid to Jatheryn standing behind Jahaelis, and Jatheryn saw something there he’d never seen before; pity. His grandfather had always been the one person who never looked at him like that, ever. Then Jalborn was focused back on Jahaelis.

“It was a mistake to even consider the Farakirns in the first place,” Jalborn said firmly. “I would not see the heir to our family married to a daughter of commoners, even if they call themselves nobles.”

“Then what do you suggest we do, Father?” Jahaelis snarled. He shook the mangled remains of the damning letter in Jalborn’s face.

“All our avenues have been exhausted,” Rosarin sobbed. “Not even the commonest of the nobility will have him!”

“You are both addled in the head. Have you not considered that there are noble families in cities other than Vaelona? Clearly the families here are prejudiced against Jatheryn, having spent too long dwelling on no more intelligent thoughts than why one boy might be different from the rest. Rosarin, you yourself are a daughter of the Wynmyars of Blue Stone. Nobles from elsewhere in Goran might prove less quick to judge.”

“And if they don’t?” Jahaelis growled, shredding what remained of the letter. “If they too decide they don’t want Jatheryn poisoning their bloodlines?”

“Enough!” Jalborn shouted. It was a powerful sound coming from a cotton-topped elder. “I will not have you speaking of my grandson in such a way!”

“He’s my son!” Jahaelis roared back, once again nearly nose to nose with Jalborn. “Rosarin and I are the ones who have demeaned ourselves by begging and pleading with the nobles of Vaelona. You have done nothing to help us!”

As the shouting intensified, the dull throbbing which had begun earlier in Jatheryn’s ears grew and grew. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Then he felt cool fingers slide between his own.

“Come away, Jath.”

Awenis spoke softly, well below the attention of the furious adults. Leading Jatheryn by the hand, Awenis steered them both away from the ugly storm that, after what felt like years of brewing on the horizon, had finally arrived.

By the time Awenis closed her bedroom door behind them the shouting could be heard all throughout the estate. Even the whitewashed walls provided little barrier. Jatheryn realized that his legs were shaking. He sank down onto the side of Awenis’ bed and put his head in his hands. No doubt his roots were showing through again by now.

The mattress gave slightly as Awenis sat down beside him. She reached out and enfolded her brother in a hug that smelled of lilac perfume and fresh air. Awenis was so slight, so delicate, seeming as liable to shatter as that porcelain dish on the drawing room floor. It was Awenis who propped the both of them up though, pulling Jatheryn’s head in to lean against her shoulder.

“I hate Father for speaking to you that way,” Awenis said.

“No, you don’t,” Jatheryn mumbled. “Awenis, you don’t hate anybody.”

“You think I don’t?” The sudden vehemence in his baby sister’s sweet voice took Jatheryn by surprise. “I hated Garrett Kilgorin for throwing that rock at you when we were children. I hated Marielle Tremaris for telling me when I was fourteen that I was liable to die young for being so frail. I hate Waylon and Lizeth Farakirn for rejecting you, after I think Kendris was just starting to like you. And I _especially_ hate Father for saying such terrible things today.”

“What are we going to do?”

Jatheryn sighed so deeply, he felt it was liable to make his very heart shudder. He also felt Awenis’s shoulders lift and fall. The shouting rose another octave downstairs; it sounded like Rosarin was getting in on the action now too.

“You should go. Get out of the house, Jath, even if only for a few hours. Give everyone time to yell themselves out and start thinking again. The temperature is too high at the Saurivic estate today to bear.”

“You should come too.” Jatheryn took Awenis’ hand, marveling at how lightly boned her fingers were. It was like holding a bird. “You don’t need to hear any of that either.”

Awenis smiled a tiny bit, but shook her head. The pale sunlight coming through her long, gossamer curtains highlighted the faintest spots of pink in Awenis’s cheeks and lips. 

“I can’t. I have to be here in my room this evening.”

Jatheryn frowned, confused.

“Why?”

“I…just don’t feel very well is all. It’s nothing, but all the yelling has given me a headache and I want to lie down.” Awenis stood, pulling Jatheryn toward her balcony window. “You really should go out though. Go somewhere nice, like the Rainbow Gardens.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Father said a lot of cruel things today, but he did say one thing right; you do haunt this house too much, Jath.” Awenis smiled sadly, reaching up to cup Jatheryn’s cheek. “Go out and find something that makes you feel happy, even if only for a little while.”

* * *

Jatheryn slid down the tree outside of Awenis’ balcony like a thief escaping his own house. From there, not knowing what else to do, he simply wandered. He wandered past the Iralar estate, with its thorny tendrils of roses crawling up the black iron gates. A rose the size of a peach hung over the walkway in front of the estates, its perfume nearly overwhelming in the afternoon warmth. Jatheryn walked straight through the rose, breaking loose its blood-red petals to fall to the street behind him.

People went about their daily business in Vaelona, many walking and talking in pairs or groups. There were families, often with young children running ahead of their parents or clinging shyly to skirts. An elderly couple strolled together, arm in arm with laden baskets full of fresh market goods. The husband said something he no doubt thought was witty, and the wife rolled her eyes with the practiced ease of ages. Jatheryn watched them pass with unconcealed envy. Would that ever be him? He felt little hope that it could be.

The sound of music came faintly to Jatheryn, echoing and finding extra timber through the streets. Vaguely it pricked Jatheryn back into paying attention to his surroundings. He was nearing the heart of Vaelona, where all the grandest and most important of institutions could be found. The soaring glass domes and silvery pillars of the Central Hall of Vaelona could be seen from nearly everywhere within the city walls. Now they loomed bright and brilliant up ahead, with flocks of white doves flying past like summer snowflakes.

It wasn’t from the Central Hall that the music was coming, but from another, less vast (but no less grand) building at the far end of the square. The Bardic College stood next to the School of Fine Arts and across the square from the Rainbow Gardens. In the center of the square stood a beautiful fountain in the shape of a maiden that looked like it had been carved from solid crystal. At the far end of the square began the immensely wide white stairs that led up to the Central Hall.

Letting the music lead him, Jatheryn passed the crystal fountain on his way to the doors of the Bardic College. The melody grew louder with every step; a rich medley of cellos, violins and singing voices. It had been far too long since Jatheryn had enjoyed a good concert—since the Crowning Day ball, in fact. The doors of the Bardic College were tall and clear as glass, but no less heavy than if they were made of solid oak when Jatheryn opened one side.

The main foyer of the Bardic College was a graceful rotunda with polished mosaic floors and live trees planted around the walls. In the center of the foyer an enormous sphere hung in midair, cleverly suspended by the employment of natural sciences involving the composition of the sphere and its base. The music which had led Jatheryn there echoed wonderfully in the rotunda, amplified from the alcove where a company of minstrels in training performed for their teachers.

The students all wore matching uniforms of silvery grey doublets or gowns with bright red embroidery. Their teachers stood out immediately in similar uniforms of blood red with silver hemming. A conductor stood at the front of the performing company, a slim baton in hand as he directed his pupils. Another teacher stood to one side, watching and making careful notes.

Entranced, Jatheryn found a bench and let himself fall deeply into the music. The violins all played in perfect harmony with each other and the cellos, and the singers complimented sopranos with tenors in turn. It was wonderful, superior even to the musicians his family had hired for Crowning Day. For a time, Jatheryn found solace in just sitting and forgetting everything but song.

“Do you play?”

Jatheryn was jolted out of his stupor by the unexpected question. To his surprise, he found a third, previously unnoticed teacher standing beside him. The fellow was bald, with arresting green eyes and a large ruby pinned through one earlobe.

“Yes, the viol,” Jatheryn answered without thinking.

“Wait right here.”

The teacher walked away, his bright red tunic a splash of color against the soothing monotones of the rotunda. He went to where the students were performing, and bent to rummage in a large case. Jatheryn’s eyes widened when the man started back toward him with a viol in hand.

“Here, play if you will.” He held out the instrument to Jatheryn. “We are always happy to hear the talents of any who feel the pull of music as we do.”

“…Alright. Thank you.”

Suddenly nervous, Jatheryn took the offered viol and settled it between his knees. It was an unfamiliar instrument; not his own treasured viol which his grandfather had given him. Still, when Jatheryn drew the bow across the strings, he found it perfectly tuned.

When he glanced up, the instructor smiled encouragingly and nodded. With a deep breath, Jatheryn closed his eyes and just listened to the song of the students again. Then, he found a place in the melody for himself and leapt in.

It was not a song he knew previously, and it was hard to stay in key signature and time with the others. Little by little though, Jatheryn began to relax and let the music guide him. Then he was free, following the river of music as one of many. No longer did he stand apart, a white blot in a field of colored flowers. Now he was music, and music had no eyes. Once or twice he made mistakes, but they were always easily moved beyond once the chorus circled round.

When the song finished, Jatheryn at last opened his eyes to soft applause. The teacher stood clapping his callused hands together slowly, appreciatively.

“You have more than the average measure of talent, that I can say with certainty. Have you ever considered pursuing a livelihood as a minstrel before?”

“I…”

Jatheryn realized too late what a trap he had walked himself into. He hadn’t known how badly he wanted music, wanted this, until now. And it was only now that he came back to himself enough to realize that he couldn’t.

“I cannot. I am the eldest child of an eldest child, and bound to the headship of my family one day.”

“Ah, my lord.”

Jatheryn hated those words with every fiber of his being, and the respectful bow that went with them. He handed over the viol and fled the Bardic College with all haste, leaving the puzzled instructor in his wake. He ran past the crystal fountain, past the Rainbow Gardens, past the destroyed rose hanging from the Iralars’ gate. He ran all the way home to the front lane of the Saurivic estate. By now the sun was setting, and a faint purple hue hung over the gardens. The last rays of the sun dipped behind the hedges as Jatheryn stood panting, snuffing out the golden glow on the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, and it made Jatheryn want to weep. He wanted with all his heart to turn back around and return to the Bardic College, not to walk through these doors and once again become a Saurivic.

Movement caught Jatheryn’s attention out the corner of his eye. Someone was at Awenis’ balcony. Standing below in the gardens, Jatheryn waited for his little sister to come out and call him back inside. He was both shocked and more than a little terrified when the first person to appear through those silken curtains was not Awenis, or even a woman for that matter.

Even at a distance, Jatheryn recognized Darenel Tremaris by his ruffled brown hair and the comfortable ease with which he carried himself. Awenis stepped out onto the balcony after him. Jatheryn nearly swallowed his tongue when he realized that Awenis was dressed only in her nightgown and a light knitted shawl. She practically glowed white against the growing darkness of the evening, her cornsilk hair floating about her bare shoulders in the lantern light.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave like this.” Awenis’s voice came to Jatheryn like he’d never heard it before; rich and sultry. “Everything was so perfect until you had to leave.”

“That I’m afraid is the problem with perfect; it never lasts,” Darenel replied.

He reached out for Awenis and drew her close. The two kissed, slow and tender in the twilight.

“Yes, it does,” Awenis said when they finally broke apart. She reached up to touch Darenel’s face, even more lovingly than she had touched Jatheryn’s earlier. “It lasts in here, forever, and in here.” She laid a hand to her heart.

Rather than answer, Darenel reached out and took her hand in his. He caressed her knuckles where the silver infinity ring gleamed.

“Someday soon you’ll wear that on your fourth finger, and I’ll have a ring to match,” he said. “I swear it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Darenel,” Awenis warned, sounding a little sad.

“I never do.”

Darenel and Awenis embraced once more, kissing like two lovers who would never see one another again. Then Darenel turned away and reached for the branch of the tree beyond the balcony. Awenis went to the balcony rail and leaned over on her elbows, watching as he climbed down. Little wisps of hair floated around her like a white-gold halo. Then Awenis hugged her shawl tighter to her and went inside.

Darenel lingered a moment longer below the balcony, staring up at the doorway where Awenis had disappeared. Finally, he turned to go, and nearly ran into Jatheryn.

“Lord Jatheryn!” he exclaimed. Blind panic showed plainly on his handsome young face. “I…apologies…I did not…”

Jatheryn was so very tired, he had no idea what to feel. He spoke slowly, just above a whisper.

“You are very, very lucky that it is only me, just a ghost, who has found you out tonight. If I had been anyone else in all Vaelona, both you and my sister would be in the worst trouble of your lives.”

“I know, I am…” Darenel seemed to think for a moment, then threw back his shoulders. “Actually, I am not sorry. I…I love your sister, Lord Jatheryn, and she loves me.”

“Then why do you sneak about in the dark of night?” Jatheryn asked with an arched eyebrow.

“My great aunt-”

“Would not approve, is that it?” Jatheryn stared at Darenel, then shook his head with a grimace that was almost a smile. “Rest assured, I will not say anything to anyone of what I’ve discovered tonight. But know this; the next time anyone learns of your involvement with my little sister, it had better be because the two of you are announcing a formal courtship. Understood?”

“Perfectly.” Darenel bobbed his head, a stray lock of hair falling over his forehead. “I have even requested to speak to my great-aunt alone, to tell her about Awenis and I. I suspect that Marielle has been avoiding me…but I will ask her again.”

“Good.”

Jatheryn stepped around Darenel, heading for the servants’ entrance. He didn’t think Awenis would appreciate him barging into her room via the window this evening. He was unprepared for Darenel to call after him.

“Thank you.”

Jatheryn paused at the door, his hand on the knob. It was a small but exquisitely rare thing; a word of appreciation from another young man. Still, it was something, another meager treasure to be tucked away in the trove within his heart. Slowly Jatheryn opened the door and stepped inside the Saurivic family house.

* * *


	11. Cracks

* * *

The trip from Utunma to Moaan was three days by sea, if one followed the main shipping routes. In order to avoid attracting attention, Vinie, Bakko, and Gideo sailed their little dhow closer to the shoreline. Here there were many reefs and unseen sand bars that slowed their progress. More than once only quick maneuvering by Bakko had kept the dhow from running aground. The coast was steep, rocky, and thick with jungle along the southern edge of Goran, which was a blessing to the three fugitives. Even hampered as they were so close to land, they could at least rest easy knowing that the odds of someone spotting them from shore were slim at the most.

After more than a decade in the cool, damp, dark of prison, Vinie had almost forgotten what it felt like to be out on the water. The white-hot sunlight danced upon the waves and shone back like a thousand tiny mirrors. The brightness was often too much for Vinie’s sensitive eyes, and she took to wearing a thin scarf over her face as a protective veil. It was stifling under even that little amount of material, and her arms ached from sudden activity after so many years of misuse. They hadn’t had much time to pack provisions, and so the food and clean water had to be carefully portioned out. They spent hours either hard at work at the oars or with nothing to do at all when the winds were favorable. Vinie loved every minute of it.

Sitting at the tiller at high noon on the second day, Vinie drank in the blueness of the sky and sea. A few cottony clouds floated far away over the horizon, teasing at shade. Water lapped at the sides of the dhow as it cut through the water. A few droplets splashed up here and there, wetting Vinie’s lean, dark arms and sparkling there before drying moments later. The scent of salt was everywhere. That was the one thing about the sea that Vinie had not become a stranger to over the years; every corner of Utunma smelled of the brine.

In the center of the narrow deck, Gideo and Bakko lay in their lone pocket of shade. Gideo had rigged a blanket between the mast and the deck, creating a tiny lean-to. They took it in turns to nap during the heat of the day. By nightfall everyone would be awake, but for now, Vinie’s only companions were the occasional hippocamps basking on the rocks and the gulls. The graceful seahorses stretched their long necks to the sun, water glistening on their scaly flanks. Vinie had only once seen a hippocampus before. The shy creatures usually kept well clear of Utunma. She strained to watch the pod long after the dhow had left them in its wake. 

Sweat trickled down the side of Vinie’s brow. The humidity from her breath was making the cloth veil intolerable. Holding onto the tiller with one hand, she reached back and undid the damp knot. A couple of the braids Sahar had woven caught in the knot as it came undone, making her wince. The glare of sun off the water was painful, but less so than yesterday. It also felt unspeakably good to breathe the free ocean air. With a deep, contented sigh, Vinie leaned to one side for a look at the waters ahead.

A spray of water off the prow flashed up suddenly, and Vinie smiled in anticipation of a cooling douse. She closed her eyes and prepared to be refreshed. When the expected misting never touched her face, Vinie was puzzled. Cracking open her eyes, she froze on the bench.

The white spray hung in midair, sunlight glinting off each of the thousands of tiny droplets like jewels. Rather than fall back into the sea, they stayed level with Vinie beside the boat. The ocean mist formed a face; a face that Vinie had never again thought to see so long as she lived.

“ _Zaneo..._ ” Vinie breathed.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible. As sure as she saw the blue of the sky and the green of the coast, Vinie saw Zaneo’s likeness floating in the sea spray off the dhow’s hull. That endearingly broad nose, those ever-smiling lips, they were just as Vinie remembered in her dreams every night. Zaneo was not smiling now though. Even the eyes were the same, or was that the blue-green of the sea reflecting through the water droplets?

Then, just like a dream, Zaneo was gone. There was nothing but the splash of the sea and Vinie’s own reflection gaping back up at her. A gull cried out overhead, circling before turning and crossing the short distance to the coast. Then Vinie saw it.

Acting immediately, she threw her entire body against the tiller. The dhow reacted in an instant, banking hard away from the shoreline. The turn was so sharp that Gideo and Bakko were sent sprawling out from under their cover and across the deck. They both hit the port side rail with a pair of heavy thuds.

“What was that about?!” Gideo shouted, untangling himself and Bakko from the piles of rope that had slid with them.

“Are you alright, Vinie?” Concern was plain on Bakko’s weathered face, even as he himself struggled to regain his feet.

Adrenaline still pumping through her veins, Vinie had to take a moment to correct their course before breathing again. Sweat trickled under the leather cord which bound her pearl to her brow. With the back of one hand, Vinie rubbed her forehead.

“Yas, yas I’m fine. We almost weren’t though…look!”

Still half on their feet, Gideo and Bakko turned to look back over the stern of the dhow. The enormous, wickedly sharp coral reef they had barely missed was only just visible beneath the surface of the water. It would have been practically impossible to spot from even a matter of yards away.

Part of the reef scraped the underside of the hull despite Vinie’s maneuver. It rasped terribly in their ears, but there was no tell-tale splintering sound to indicate the hull had been breached.

Once they were clear, everyone released a breath they didn’t know they had been holding.

“Well, that was close,” Gideo commented casually. He still went to the side and leaned over for a look at the hull.

“Your eyes are getting better.” Bakko approached Vinie and lifted her chin with a bony hand. He smiled proudly. “Even the best mariners I know could have easily run up on that there coral.”

The sun was still painful in her eyes, and Vinie had to pull her face back down quickly. Tracks of moisture gathered on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the light though. Mistaking her sudden reticence for exhaustion, Bakko pointed to the tarp.

“Why don’t you go and take your turn resting? Let this old man handle the tiller for a while.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea.”

Vinie hesitated only a moment before surrendering her spot to her father at the stern. While she made for the shade, Gideo went to work, coiling up all the rope that her maneuver had sent flying across the deck. The wooden boards were hard beneath her back, and it took some fidgeting before she finally settled on lying on her side, one arm bent to provide a makeshift pillow.

Lying in a troubled half sleep, Vinie tried and failed to convince herself that she had just been seeing things earlier. Every time she closed her eyes though, she could still see Zaneo’s face in the sea spray. And thank the stars she had too, or else she might never have spotted that coral reef in time, or even at all. Still, what she had seen was impossible! For the first time since her escape, Vinie seriously began to doubt her sanity.

After trying and failing to sleep for a few hours, Vinie at last got up and went to join the men on the deck. The three of them piloted the dhow along the coastline all through the night, and beyond, in the golden-pink dawn.

* * *

Mid-afternoon on the third day was when they caught their first glimpse of the Bay of Torbos. The steep shoreline and wall of jungle abruptly fell away on their left, revealing a natural harbor so wide across it was impossible to make out the far side.

That was also their first glimpse of The Teeth; the mighty mountain range that split Goran down the center from north to south. The Teeth here were at their lowest point east of the Bay of Torbos; slowly, grudgingly, they sank down into the sea. Further to the north though, their peaks stretched like jagged stalagmites toward the sky. Vinie stood sunburnt and heat-tired on the deck of the dhow between Bakko and Gideo, eyes wide and mouth open in wonder. Then she saw Moaan and her awe grew greater still.

The greatest port city in all of southern Goran shone like a beacon atop the Bay of Torbos, beckoning the many ships in the harbor inward. Golden domes soared high in the sky, flocks of birds casting reflections rather than shadows upon their gleaming faces. Enormous causeways crisscrossed this way and that, high above the bustle of the overflowing streets below, providing a second level of thoroughfares for the people of Moaan. Even at a distance, they could all hear the low roar of thousands of voices, animals, and city ambiance.

On the waters of the Bay of Torbos, what looked to be at least a hundred ships floated, either coming or going from the port city. Some were no bigger than their little dhow, but most would have easily dwarfed even the larger merchant vessels at anchor in Utunma. Great galleys riding low in the water with sails the size of clouds passed them by, their prows casting wakes large enough to slosh water over the side of the dhow. Vinie twice had to steer them out of the path of these enormous ships. They were but minnows skirting among whales compared to these crafts. Some Vinie recognized the design of, but others were of a foreign make and form.

“That one there must be all the way from Derbesh.” Bakko pointed to a ship that was shaped similar to their dhow, but at least ten times larger, and with three angled sails. “They call that a ghanjah. See the trefoil on the prow?”

“I see it, and I think I prefer figureheads.” Gideo shaded his eyes as they drifted past the enormous ghanjah. “They add more character, if you know what I mean.”

Vinie chuckled. “Plus, a trefoil doesn’t have cleavage to paint.”

“Oh, so you did notice that after all, did you?”

“You have to admit, your figurehead Vinie was a little shapelier than I am.” Vinie gestured at her own rail-thin body. Even before prison she had never been curvaceous like Sahar.

Gideo shrugged helplessly as the shadow of the eastern ship fell across them. “Give me credit; I tried to whittle her down a little first. Beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to cast-off figureheads.”

“Or when it comes to hungover SkinPainters,” Bakko snorted at Gideo’s remarks.

Gideo just laughed, trimming the sail of their little dhow as they approached the port of Moaan. Here the ships were thicker than ever, and Vinie was hard pressed at the tiller to dodge them all. There were many, many rows of docks for ships, boats, and rafts alike to choose from. Some were spread far apart for proper ships to dock at, while others were a mass of wood so tight that one might easily walk from boat to boat without getting wet.

Bakko was shaking his head as he scanned the open docks. “Eish, we’ll never find a spot in there, not without practically crawling over someone else. Let’s tie up in the Serpent’s Tunnel.”

“The what?” Vinie asked from her spot at the tiller.

“That long passageway, the one built out of stone at the far end of the docks.” Bakko pointed a gnarled finger. “We can move straight from the boat into the streets from there, rather than passing through all the people on the docks. Less chance of being spotted, yas?”

“I don’t think anybody would be looking for us in Moaan already, Bakko. Still, I do agree about the Serpent’s Tunnel. Take us in, Vinie.” Gideo started lowering the dhow’s single sail.

The Serpent’s Tunnel was Moaan’s indoor harbor, shielded from the hot southern sun by a high vaulted stone roof. As soon as they glided into the mouth of the tunnel the water became smooth and glassy beneath them. Stray rays of sun filtered in through the occasional slit in the stonework high above, casting curtains of light across the passage. Ships of all sizes lay at anchor on either side of the Serpent’s Tunnel, their hulls nudging against the stone walls. From there it was a simple matter to disembark onto the steps, and from there walk into Moaan along the long hallways on either side of the water.

The atmosphere of the Serpent’s Tunnel seemed almost unnaturally quiet after the organized chaos of the harbor. A narrow cutter skimmed past them on its way out, barely making a sound and hardly a ripple across the water. Murmurs reached them from the crew of the cutter. The sound echoed off the walls on either side of the Serpent’s Tunnel, as if they were in a cave. In many ways, it felt like they were. Drops of water even fell occasionally from the ceiling where they had condensed in the heat and humidity.

They finally found a spot to tie up the dhow at about midway down the tunnel. It was a tight squeeze between two merchant ships, but it was also inconspicuous. The moment Vinie’s sandals hit the stone she was overcome with a sense of vertigo. It had been a long time since she’d spent so much time on the water. She wobbled somewhat unsteadily along between Bakko and Gideo as they followed the hallway toward the city. Behind them, the glare of the sun on the sea grew smaller and smaller at the mouth of the passage.

When they emerged from the Serpent’s Tunnel, they found themselves surrounded by more people than Vinie had ever seen in one place before in her entire life. The docks of Moaan led straight into the markets. Fishermen needed only to drag their fish-heavy net a short way from their boats to find the fishmongers who would sell them. Merchants in colorful vests bickered with their captains over the price of the latest voyage between Moaan, Derbesh, and Blue Stone. The clinking of coins came from every direction. Dogs and children ran underfoot looking for mischief, food, or both. The reek of fish, sweat, and salt hung positively thick in the air. Behind all this, the golden domes of the city shone as brightly as the coins the shopkeepers received from their customers.

“Where do we go first?” Vinie asked, her head swiveling back and forth in an effort to take in everything at once. She felt like a child in awe of the wider world.

Bakko took Vinie’s hand in his, tugging her along gently.

“First, to an inn. You need to rest before you fall down.” He looked Gideo up and down. “We all do.”

Taking a moment to think of other things besides the sheer enormity of Moaan, Vinie realized they really were a motley bunch. Sweat encrusted with salt had dried around their faces and necks, staining the clothes they had worn for the past three days straight. They were overheated, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and stiff from sleeping on a wooden deck. Even so, the three of them really didn’t look all that out of place, surrounded as they were by sea people and sailors.

Limping quite heavily, Bakko led Vinie and Gideo through the crowd. Vinie recalled that it had to have been at least fifteen years since her father had last visited Moaan. Still, Bakko never faltered in his course. Once or twice they almost lost sight of him amidst the bustle of the Moaanese marketplace. At least with so many hundreds - more likely thousands - of people in one place, there was no chance of them standing out.

Bakko brought them to a small, seedy looking inn tucked nearly out of sight on the far side of the harbor. The only way anyone could even notice it was there was by the rotten wooden sign hanging over the door. ‘The Gull’s Nest’ was carved out in heavy block letters across the bottom of the round sign beneath a terrible likeness of a seabird.

The inside of the place didn’t look much better maintained than the sign. It was dark, and their sandals stuck to the wooden floors, smooth and tacky with years of spilled drinks. Despite all appearances however, the place was crowded.

“Baba, what is this place?” Vinie murmured in Bakko’s ear.

“An old haunt of mine, from before you were born. I used to come to Moaan quite a bit, working as a deckhand on ships between here and Utunma. Then I met your mother and settled down into the family business.”

“You don’t think anyone will recognize you, do you?” Vinie couldn’t help but glance around the room. The inn’s common room was so dark and muggy that even those sitting at the tables closest to them were cast in shadow.

Bakko raised an eyebrow at Vinie, his weathered, wrinkled face cast in a sad smile. “Having aged as well as I have? I doubt it.”

“Still, I’ll get our rooms.”

Gideo edged around Bakko and Vinie to approach the bar. The innkeeper was an enormously fat old woman wearing an apron that looked about as clean as the floors. When she saw Gideo she grinned so brightly at him that her entire sweaty face lit up.

“What can I be getting for ya, handsome?”

“A room for the night, if you have any. Oh, and some cheese, fish, and water.”

“Yas to the first, third and fourth, but I ran right out of the clean cheese last night. Doesn’t keep well in the heat, ya know?” The innkeeper laughed as if moldy cheese was a particularly funny thing.

“That’s alright, just the room, fish, and water then. How much?”

The innkeeper leaned to one side, eyeing Vinie and Bakko around Gideo’s shoulder. “They with you too?” She sounded disappointed.

“Yas, we’re together.”

“I’ll be taking ten luns then, for one night.”

A shot of blind panic suddenly went through Vinie. She hadn’t a single coin to her name, and had nothing worth trading either. One look sideways at her father confirmed that Bakko likely was no wealthier than her.

“Fair enough.” Gideo stuck a hand deep under his thick cloth belt and came up with a small sack that jingled. “Ten luns, and five ignums if you let us use your rain barrels for washing up.”

The innkeeper made a show of looking Gideo over from head to toe. Her smile only got wider and wider, revealing one missing front tooth behind her black lips.

“Ya can keep your copper if you wash up in the yard out back. Just past that window there.” The giggle that escaped her seemed completely mismatched with a woman of her age. “So ya don’t mess up my rooms, yas?”

“…”

“We’ll leave your place as clean as we found it.” Vinie interrupted, stepping up to the counter and blocking the innkeeper’s attempt to offer Gideo his coins back. “We don’t mind carrying the water upstairs.”

The woman’s grin instantly faded, but she withdrew her pudgy hand and nodded all the same.

“Room three, just up there.” She pointed, tucking the money into her apron. Noticing a patron waving his empty tankard from across the room, her demeanor changed yet again. “Stop yar flapping about like a gull, I’ll be coming ‘round in a bit!”

After washing in cold rainwater brought up to their room in buckets and eating a plateful of warm bread and fish, the full exhaustion of their sea voyage hit them like a tidal wave. It was all Vinie could do to give her sweat soaked clothes a quick rinse and wring before she started to yawn. Wrapped in a scratchy blanket and sitting perched on a corner of the room’s lone bed, Vinie was unsurprised when Bakko and Gideo’s movements likewise began to slow and grow languid. The sun had yet to set, its lengthening rays casting long orange fingers across the floor. After three days of sailing and sleeping on a hard deck, they were all exhausted.

“Is that bed going to be big enough for the three of us?” Bakko asked, attempting to yawn himself awake for a few more minutes.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ll make it work for the night.”

Gideo brushed a hand back through his curly hair, then stretched long and hard. With no further warning, he flung himself facedown across the bottom of the goose feather mattress. His long arms and legs dangled off either side of the bed, but Gideo made no further efforts at movement.

With Vinie and Bakko lying back-to-back lengthwise and Gideo sprawled across the foot of the bed, they somehow managed to settle in. Tired as they were, it didn’t take much to get comfortable enough for sleep. The last thing Vinie knew before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep was her father’s foot twitching against her leg and the hum of the Moaanese docks outside.

* * *

Hours later—Vinie had no idea how many—she awoke. The little room was darker now, but still lit by the otherworldly silver glow of moonlight. The noise beyond the inn had lessened somewhat; it must be even past the hour when taverns put out their final crew of rowdy customers to wander the streets.

Then Vinie noticed that she no longer felt Bakko against her back. Lifting her head and looking over her shoulder, she was relieved to find he had only rolled during the night. Now he faced toward her, his bony shoulder rising and falling slowly with sleep. Cast in moonlight and at rest, Bakko’s aged face seemed to smooth slightly and lose some of its years of care and sorrow. He almost looked like the father that Vinie had last seen the day she and Zaneo had…

Rolling back over, Vinie bit her lip. She could still see Zaneo’s face so clearly, just as it had appeared to her in the sea spray. ‘ _From the sea, of the sea, to the sea_.’ That was what the shamans always said. Was it really true? Did Zaneo’s spirit somehow live on? Or was she just seeing things, born from the shadows and silence of prison that still clung to her mind in moments of stillness? Vinie closed her eyes and saw the shattered spiderweb of her map on the stone wall. It looked crazed now in her mind’s eye, a frantic scrawl from a deranged mind.

Something creaked across the room, and Vinie sat bolt upright. Then she realized what was making the windowsill squeak. The foot of the bed was empty. Gideo half stood, half sat, watching Moaan through the slats of the window shade.

Holding tight to her makeshift blanket wrap, Vinie got up and went to stand at the other side of the window. Gideo continued to look out over the harbor, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. It was a full moon, and the ocean shone a deep, polished black as the white light hung overhead.

Gideo shifted again, resettling himself on the sill. The tattoo of sea otters on his bicep seemed to take on a lifelike sort of depth…even to move in the weir-light of the moon, like dark shadows swimming across the canvas of his skin. Vinie subconsciously rubbed at the little marriage knot on her palm. It was almost faded. She and Zaneo would have had their marks freshened up at least twice over by now, in another life. 

“I’ll fish for your thoughts,” Gideo offered, a common phrase in the south. He was looking at her now. The early beard he had yet to trim made him look more like the man he had become, rather than the boy Vinie and Zaneo had once known.

“You’re up late…or early?” Vinie tried to deflect from the worries that roiled around in her mind.

Gideo jerked his chin slightly toward the window. “There were some drunks out there earlier, fighting. I got up to check on things, and was about to go back to sleep when I saw the moon. It looks different from here, in Moaan.”

“Does it?” A light breeze off the sea snuck in through the window, raising bumps along Vinie’s bare arms and shoulders. “Hmm, the air smells different too.”

“Can you believe it? More than thirty years we’ve been alive, and this is the first time we’ve been outside Utunma?”

“Thirty years,” Vinie repeated softly. “You make us sound so old, like we ought to have done something with our lives by now.”

“We’re still young.” Gideo flashed his white teeth at Vinie in a smile. “And it sounds to me like you’ve got enough plans for all of our lifetimes, yas?”

Vinie didn’t answer. She stood silently, chewing her tongue and watching the moonlit ocean. Her frown pillowed the black pearl between her eyebrows.

“Vinie? You alright?”

“Gideo, if I ask you something will you promise to tell me the truth?”

“Since when do I ever lie!?”

“All of the time. Now really, do you promise?”

Gideo frowned, concern evident in his sudden solemnity. “Yas, I promise. What is it?”

With a deep breath, Vinie finally broke the bubble around her deepest fear. “Have I changed much since I was in prison? I mean, as a person? Do you think I’ve turned a bit…odd?”

It was the perfect opening for a quip along the lines of ‘You’ve always been odd’, the likes of which Gideo would have tossed around every day in their youth. Gideo said nothing of the sort now. Instead, he pulled Vinie up onto the windowsill with him so they sat perched face-to-face.

“You’ve changed, of course you have.” Vinie was about to hang her head when Gideo continued. “You don’t laugh like you used to, and you seem more uncertain, like you don’t trust yourself anymore. Do you remember when we were kids, how you used to lead Zaneo and I all over Utunma? You and Sahar were our ringleaders. That hasn’t changed, not for me.”

“But this time it’s bigger than just deciding whether we go swimming or playing hoops. This whole idea I told you about, the one about the south and the capital…Gideo, people could get hurt. Like Baba said, it’s treason of the biggest kind. You both helped me, saved me, and now I’m leading you straight into the fire. I don’t even know what to do next, or where to go.”

Leaning forward, Gideo placed his broad, warm hands on her knees and gave them a friendly squeeze.

“You never led us into anything that the rest of us didn’t want to get into right along with you. If we were going to get in trouble, then we planned to have just as much fun as you did.” Gideo’s smile faltered. “Zaneo was my best friend, better than a brother to me. He and his parents, they treated me like their own. For an orphan, there isn’t much more in the world you could ever want than that. There hasn’t been a day pass these last ten years that I haven’t wondered what I could have done to save them, or to save you.”

“You did save me, Gideo.” Vinie nodded at the bed where Bakko slept. “You and Baba both.”

“Took us long enough though.” Gideo sighed. He leaned back against the sill. The moon hung like pale lanterns in his brown eyes. “I know there was really nothing I could have done that day, but still it took years for me to _know_ it. I can do something now.”

“Even if it means following a crazy woman on an even crazier scheme that might get us all killed?” With a fond smile, Vinie shook her head in Bakko’s direction. “He’ll will go with me anywhere. He’s my father, and I’m his girl. You could’ve had a life though, Gideo.” 

“See, that’s the funny thing about being me; my family is whoever I say they are. You and Bakko, and Sahar, you’re my family now. I’m with you all the way to everywhere and anywhere, be that a new world or the chopping block.”

“How did I ever get so lucky as to have people like you, Zaneo, and Sahar in my life?” Vinie asked, tearing up but also chuckling.

“Some people just attract barnacles I guess.”

Now Vinie was really and truly laughing. Leaning forward on the sill, she tried to keep from waking Bakko as her whole frame shivered. Her cheeks burned and her eyes danced as they hadn’t in what felt like a lifetime.

Across from her, Gideo just grinned. “Seems you haven’t changed that much after all.”

* * *


	12. Epiphany

* * *

The tension in the Saurivic household had scarcely abated since the thunderous quarrel between Lord Jalborn, Jahaelis, and Rosarin two days prior. Jalborn had promptly left on a matter of family business for Amenthere, leaving Jatheryn and Awenis feeling rather unshielded from their unhappy parents. Tyene and Randir were wisely keeping to themselves in their wing of the estate, along with Myles and Taevrin. Rather than suffer the suffocating chill inside, Jatheryn did something rather out of character on the second morning, and went for a walk in the gardens.

It was still quite early, the rising sun just barely cresting the hedges that ringed the estate. Beyond, the sounds of Vaelona awakening were faint and sleepy. Birds sang cheerfully in the lilacs, their yellow and brown wings little spots of movement among the leaves. Jatheryn decided that it actually was quite nice outside at this hour. Perhaps he would make a habit of walking in the dawn.

Jatheryn’s newfound peace was interrupted by an unexpected discovery around the next corner. Sitting on a hanging bench facing the little ornamental swan pond was his mother. Rosarin was alone, her white crochet shawl falling down around the shoulders of a comfortable, simple gown. Rosarin’s long, fading blonde hair tumbled down loose and un-styled, hanging softly around her aged face. It was an unusual way to see Rosarin for Jatheryn; he was so used to his mother being poised and formal at all times.

“Hello Jatheryn.”

Rosarin put her bare feet down on the dewy grass to stop the slow swinging of the bench. Her shoes sat a short ways away, discarded. The usual harshness of his mother’s voice was softened by the outdoors.

“Hello Mother.”

Rosarin slid down on the bench, making room for two.

“Come, sit.” 

Jatheryn hesitated briefly before obeying. Posture as stiff and unyielding as ever, he sat like a child’s doll bent to fit into its chair.

Rosarin did not speak at first. Instead, she pushed off from the ground a little, causing the bench to swing from its tree branch once more. A pair of swans glided into view from behind a cluster of cattails. They touched their graceful necks together before breaking apart to make room for the wedge of cygnets that followed. The newly hatched swans were small and fuzzy looking, their grey downy feathers rather mismatched with the beauty of their parents. The avian family all seemed content enough with one another though as they circled the pond.

“You see that?” Rosarin pointed at the swans.

“Yes, but why do you ask?”

“That is all we want for you, Jatheryn. You’re lonely; anyone with eyes can see it. Do you believe me when I tell you that your father and I really do want you to be happy? All this has just…taken us rather by surprise. We never expected…never mind.”

Jatheryn watched the pair of swans guide their brood through the shallows and up onto the grassy banks of the pond. The cygnets shook the water from their down, making them look like little balls of grey fuzz. One of the swans stretched back to nudge the last baby out of the water after its brothers and sisters. Its mate waited patiently until everyone was ready before leading the way into the shade of a willow tree.

“I want that too, Mother. I just…” Jatheryn fell silent.

Rosarin eyed him from the side. Her skin may have been withered and dry, but her gaze was as keen and clear as any woman of forty years.

“You just didn’t ask to be as you are.” She sighed. Ruefully, she rubbed at the back of her knuckles, causing little white flakes to float up. “Neither did I. Your father, well, perhaps he loved us just a little bit too much.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jatheryn asked, puzzled.

Rosarin shook her head, dismissing any further prying.

“Nothing. I wanted to tell you that your father and grandfather came to some measure of a solution before he left. Your grandfather is going to Amenthere to send out letters to all the noble families of western Goran, advertising your eligibility as the heir to the Saurivic family headship. We will find you a girl who will have you as her husband, one way or another.”

“You might find a girl willing, but what about her family?” Memories of the letter from the Farakirns made Jatheryn’s ears burn with shame.

“We will find someone,” Rosarin repeated firmly. “She may not be what you or anyone else in this family dreamed for. Your part in this is to believe me when I say that we will find you the best bride we can, and when the time comes say the words, fulfill the rites, and marry the girl. Can you do that?”

Again, Jatheryn darted a glance toward where the swans had disappeared. The graceful white birds were nowhere to be seen, but the ripples they had left on the pond still echoed. Slowly he nodded.

“I can.”

“Will you?”

“…I will.”

Rosarin put down her feet once more, slowing the gentle swaying of their seat. The sun was above the hedges now, shining through the long green veils of the willow tree branches.

“Good. Someday this will all be but a memory, I promise you. Then you need not look back on these days at all, except to laugh with relief at your own foolish worries.” Rosarin stood and slid into her shoes, drawing her white shawl closer to her. “Breakfast will be ready soon; don’t linger out here alone too long.”

As soon as his mother was out of sight, Jatheryn let out a long breath and leant forward, elbows propped on his knees and fingertips pressed together. He sat like that for a time, listening to the birds singing in the gardens and trying to imagine marrying someone he had never met. Did swans fall in love before mating? Did hawks, sparrows, or doves? Or did just facing the world together suffice? After a time Jatheryn gave up trying to answer these questions and went inside.

* * *

What followed in the coming weeks and months of fading summer could only be described as a gauntlet. True to his word, Jalborn returned from Amenthere having dispatched letters to Blue Stone, Syrion, Geristan, Falerik, Moaan, and even Hashodi. Jatheryn was glad he had never had a chance to read one of these ‘advertisements’. Still, that didn’t exactly make it easier to bear when he accidentally discovered his father burning a stack of rejections in the hearth in his study one evening. Thankfully Jatheryn had always been a quiet person, and Jahaelis did not notice his son before he slipped away again. 

Then, some noble families actually started coming to call with the intention of seeing Jatheryn for themselves, and Jatheryn learned to fervently appreciate the rejection letters. Some of the young noblewomen would take one look at him and blanch almost as white as he was. Others would titter and talk behind their hands to their sisters when they thought no one was looking. The strain of hosting the stream of visiting nobility was also far from fun for anyone else in the Saurivic estate. Even Tyene was starting to get a bit testy by the time they hosted the second family from Falerik with no success. Not that Jatheryn minded those particular dinners turning up fruitless; the folk from Falerik came across as very…odd. Perhaps it had something to do with their close proximity to the haunted Forest of Latharan, a place even the boldest of youths spoke of in hushed voices.

There were two meetings that perhaps were not as terrible as all the rest. A family came from Hashodi, a northern city tucked deeply into The Night Forest. Their eldest daughter, Io, was not particularly taken with Jatheryn, but their son Zhaiden was very friendly. The two of them chatted freely over dinner, and Jatheryn was sorry to see Zhaiden leave with his family at the end of the evening. He had gotten a terrific scolding from both Jahaelis and Rosarin for essentially ignoring Io, but Jatheryn was so happy to receive a letter from Zhaiden afterwards that he hardly minded.

The most promising of all their efforts had been when the Dorwiniel family of Syrion came to call. The Dorwiniels were rich in the wine trade, as Jahaelis proudly informed them all beforehand. Before they had arrived though, he had pulled Jatheryn aside.

“I suggest you employ all your charisma and keep your wits about you tonight,” Jahaelis had said, straightening the front of one of his best tunics. Jatheryn noticed the cause; his father was finally beginning to show the tiniest evidence of a gut. “Women from Syrion are as cunning as they are charming. Beware; they are not your average dalliance.”

“Since when have _I_ ever had a dalliance?” Jatheryn muttered, but followed his father to the front door all the same. 

The Dorwiniel family had two daughters acceptably close to Jatheryn’s age, Nesaria and Siresia. The third and eldest daughter, Arzai, was training in Amenthere as an Obad, making her unavailable for betrothal.

Nesaria Dorwiniel was about as old as Awenis, and Siresia was a little bit younger still. Both girls were of a lovely bronze complexion with full lips, arched brows, and high cheekbones. The whole family wore light, airy clothes that often only covered one shoulder with open, fluttering sleeves. The head of the Dorwiniel family was polite enough as she greeted Jalborn and the rest of the Saurivics, although her and her husband’s accents were a little thick for comfort.

Dinner had gone well enough, with conversation flowing genially from person to person. Jatheryn quickly came to realize though that his father had been right. Even young as they were, both Nesaria and Siresia were easily as viper-tongued as Trianne Belryn when it came to witty banter. More than once Jatheryn found himself skewered by a joke he had not even realized was being set up. Even Tyene and Jahaelis got caught up in verbal fencing matches with the Dorwiniels. The most innocuous comment could be turned around and given unintended undertones by the Syrinese.

All that would have been manageable if Jatheryn hadn’t realized about halfway through one particular exchange exactly what was happening. Smiling behind her goblet of red wine, Nesaria at last gave herself away.

“Such a political commentator you are, Lord Jatheryn! And what else does his lordship have to say about governance, hmm?”

The distinctly amused glitter in Nesaria and Siresia’s dark eyes made the food in Jatheryn’s mouth go dry. These two were merely toying with him, probing him as one would a curiosity in a traveling circus. Any pleasure he might have been taking in trying to keep pace with their debate evaporated like a summer mist. Jatheryn’s participation in the conversation became far more reserved from that point on, and by the time the Dorwiniels left he could barely look them in the eye. At least the Syrinese girls seemed to have enjoyed themselves, if their laughter was any indication. 

An added consolation was that no one had blamed him for clamming up that time. Rosarin and Jahaelis had been extremely indignant at being “mocked” by “glorified wine merchants,” and no further mention was made of the Dorwiniel daughters. 

* * *

During an apparent lull in the endless parade of nobility through the Saurivic estate, Jatheryn met Awenis and her friend, Bythnaryn Kilgorin, in the foyer one morning.

Yet again, Awenis had forgone her usual airy gowns of pale pink and blue in favor of a more womanly style. Jatheryn wondered at his younger sister’s apparent maturation when it came to fashion. Even Awenis’ white-gold hair was done up in a reserved coif, rather than left free to tumble down her back as it normally did.

Bythnaryn however looked as young and trendy as she always did; no glittering eye powder now. Instead, she wore glossy lip paint that made her pink lips as smooth as mirrors. The glitter was now to be found woven into her smooth brown hair.

“Lord Jatheryn.” Bythnaryn greeted him casually, forgoing the more traditional greeting for a quick curtsy.

“Lady Bythnaryn.” Jatheryn was feeling a bit too wrung out by the dozens of greeting lines he had been subjected to lately to begrudge the distancing. “What brings you here today?”

“She’s here to visit Taevrin,” Awenis replied. The two girls had their arms linked together, and Bythnaryn blushed scarlet. Awenis hesitated before adding, “The Kilgorins recently confirmed a betrothal for them.”

“Congratulations to you.” Jatheryn tried to sound genuinely enthused. “When do you plan to wed?”

Bythnaryn giggled, turning even brighter red. “On Taevrin’s Coming-of-Age birth day in five years. Mother jokes that it will take at least that long to plan everything!”

“You’ll be sick to death of planning if that is really the case.” Awenis laughed wanly.

“Not at all, it will all be so exciting! Awenis, you of course will be one of my handmaidens - so will Trianne - and we’ll all have to go shopping for gowns. Maybe something in violet, do you think?”

With Bythnaryn happily dithering on about wedding plans between them, Jatheryn and Awenis walked with her through the house. Jatheryn hadn’t really been planning on following along, but the prospect of seeing Taevrin try to keep up with his intended’s enthusiasm was certainly intriguing. Awenis led the way upstairs and along the long open-air walkway that connected the main house to the wing that Tyene and her family inhabited.

Sometimes Jatheryn almost forgot that there was more to the Saurivic estate than the spaces he regularly occupied. The vastness of the household made the paintings and rooms in this wing almost seem unfamiliar, as if they were no longer in the same home. In a sense, they weren’t; Tyene and Randir usually came over to the main house rather than vice versa.

They found Taevrin writing, or rather pretending to write a length of parchment for his tutors on the third floor balcony. The ink in his inkwell was drying from neglect, and thus just narrowly avoided spilling when Taevrin jostled the bottle standing up. Only Randir quickly reaching out and catching the ink pot prevented a stain on the white tablecloth. 

“Bythnaryn, you heard the news then?” Taevrin grinned, his fledgling mustache wrinkling beneath his nose.

“I did!” Bythnaryn squeaked. “Can you believe-”

“Ahem.” Randir cleared his throat, giving his son a meaningful look. “Taevrin, you forget yourself. Now greet the young lady properly.”

Taevrin flushed almost as pink as Bythnaryn. “Ah, right. It’s a pleasure to see you here, Lady Bythnaryn.” He kissed his fingertips and offered them, standing much straighter than before.

As the two exchanged greetings and once again resumed chattering excitedly about their betrothal, Jatheryn and Awenis hung back beyond the balcony. Randir chuckled and went back to his book, his own impeccable yellow mustache twitching with amusement.

Jatheryn leaned in to whisper to Awenis. “No doubt Tyene, wherever she’s at, must be just smug with satisfaction.”

“No doubt.”

Awenis fiddled with the infinity ring on her finger. Jatheryn tried again to engage her.

“They’re going to wear themselves out with excitement if they keep on like that.”

“Five years is a long time.”

“It certainly is. Who knows, they might grow up a little bit and find they don’t suit each other as well as they think.”

“Or they could learn what it means to really care for one another by then. Bythnaryn absolutely loves the idea of love.”

Jatheryn raised an eyebrow at his sister. “You speak as though she were half your age. I always thought you and Bythnaryn were a great deal alike, even more so than you and Trianne. The two of you are always flitting from one thing to the next like a pair of sparrows.”

To Jatheryn’s great surprise, Awenis actually looked rather hurt. A pained expression flickered across her pretty, porcelain face.

“Maybe we were once, but Bythnaryn and I are very different people, Jatheryn. Excuse me.”

Awenis turned and retreated back in the direction of the main house, leaving a very confused Jatheryn in her wake. It was not like Awenis to snub him. He was drawn back to the present by a particularly loud squeal from Bythnaryn.

“And you’ll of course look just dashing in the Saurivic black and gold,” Bythnaryn was saying to Taevrin. “Do you think we ought to have golden banners decorating the hall, seeing as it’s a color of both Saurivics and Kilgorins?”

Taevrin and Bythnaryn were both sitting on the cushioned bench against the balcony rail, all initial awkwardness long forgotten. Randir continued to pretend to read a short ways away, his presence demanded by social propriety. Jatheryn was just about to leave when Taevrin called out to him.

“Coz, what do you think, two attendants or three for Bythnaryn and I apiece? Obviously I need at least two, since there’s you and Myles. Bythnaryn was thinking Awenis and Trianne for her handmaidens, but then she also has two sisters.”

“Does it matter so much? You should each choose as few or as many people as you wish.”

Bythnaryn was already shaking her head. “Oh, it matters, we have to be even! Mother told me that the best way to conduct a marriage is with fairness.”

“Wise advice, Lady Bythnaryn.” Taevrin smiled rather doltishly at Bythnaryn. With a quick glance to check that his father was still reading, he inched closer to Bythnaryn on the bench. Randir’s grey eyes slid sideways a hair, but he made no comment.

“Maybe then I ought to have four groomsmen, and you have four handmaidens. Any ideas for my other two?” Taevrin was looking to Jatheryn again.

Jatheryn shrugged. “You have a number of friends, pick two of them.” All of this wedding dither was grating a bit on his already raw nerves.

“But which two? I wouldn’t want to insult everyone not chosen by picking out just two favorites.”

“Then choose a dozen groomsmen and have done with it.”

“A dozen?” Bythnaryn looked appalled. “Oh no, so many would be just tacky.”

Suddenly Randir closed his book with a sharp clap. Standing, he cleared his throat.

“Jatheryn, a word?”

Surprised, Jatheryn nodded. “Of course, Uncle.”

It was not often that Jatheryn and Tyene’s husband spoke directly to one another, and even less often that they spoke privately. Curious and a bit uncertain, Jatheryn followed Randir a short distance inside the house. They still had a clear view of Taevrin and Bythnaryn from where they stood, and the newly betrothed couple’s chattering echoed all around the balcony.

Blonde brows knitted in a frown, Randir fixed a very direct look on Jatheryn.

“It cannot be easy for you, watching Taevrin and his betrothed carry on like that when you yourself are having such…difficulties. I am not insensitive to the hard hand life has dealt you, believe me. Still, you do yourself no favors.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jatheryn demanded.

Randir’s stare only got more penetrating. Jatheryn was now uncomfortably aware that Randir shared the same all-seeing grey eyes as his niece, Hadriel.

“Have you ever considered that you do not make it easy for people to engage with you, Jatheryn? The way you hold a room at arm’s length and skim over conversations like they at worst irritate you, or at best bore you?” Randir sighed and shook his head. “You think your face repels people from you? It is not so much that as your coldness. Try to cultivate a little enthusiasm, or at least some basic interest in others besides yourself. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Randir clapped a thunderstruck Jatheryn on the shoulder before returning to his seat on the balcony. Words both spoken and unspoken failed Jatheryn. Unsure what else to do, he turned and walked away. Taevrin and Bythnaryn’s happy planning faded behind him as he crossed the walkway back into the main house.

His uncle’s words jarred him to the very core. His intial reaction was to be incredibly insulted. He wasn’t cold, was he? Jatheryn found himself turning over every conversation he could remember in his mind, worrying at every gesture and impression. It was true that he didn’t often speak much, or first. He had taken the initiative with Kendris Farakirn though, hadn’t he?

After ignoring her at the Crowning Day ball, a quiet voice inside reminded him. Had Kendris been afraid to approach him, sitting straight-backed and expressionless amidst the old men? What if Hadriel had ever thought to talk to him and then thought the better of it? How many opportunities, how many friendships had he lost out on because people like Randir thought him cold?

But it wasn’t always that way, Jatheryn reminded himself. He and the northern nobleman, Zhaiden, had gotten on very well. Someone had mentioned music at dinner that night, and things had just built from there. And hadn’t Awenis said that Kendris seemed to have started liking Jatheryn after he took it upon himself to speak to her directly?

Thinking of Awenis caught Jatheryn in mid-step. She had seemed so upset earlier after his comment about her and Bythnaryn. He hadn’t meant anything by it, but maybe he had missed something bigger than the moment?

Darenel Tremaris. The answer came to Jatheryn immediately, now that he was actually thinking about Awenis’s changed behavior lately. Something must be amiss between the two young lovers. Vowing to wring Darenel’s neck if his hunch was correct, Jatheryn rushed through the main house to Awenis’s rooms. The door was closed, as he had expected, so he paused to knock.

“Awenis?”

Jatheryn was both shaken and strangely excited. Randir’s words had hurt, but it was a useful kind of hurt. He couldn’t help his bleached face, but he could change his behavior. If he tried, really tried to be more welcoming, could things change? Could Zhaiden be the first of many friendships? Could he perhaps meet and win over a girl? The possibilities were dizzying, but first he had to check on his sister. He knocked again.

Awenis opened the door only halfway. “What is it Jatheryn?” She sounded weary. There was soul deep sadness on her pretty face that Jatheryn couldn’t believe he hadn’t spotted earlier.

“Awenis, what’s wrong? I…I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I did not mean to tease you.” His voice hardened. “Has Darenel hurt you?”

A frightened look came over Awenis’s face. Glancing nervously up and down the hall, she only relaxed slightly once she had confirmed there were no servants or other eavesdroppers about.

“It’s not as you think,” she whispered. Leaning forward, she rested her cheek against the door frame. “Or perhaps it is, I don’t know. It’s been almost two weeks now, and I’ve had neither visit nor note from Darenel. I left a message for him in our secret hiding place three nights ago…the envelope was still there when I checked this morning.” 

“Was there a falling out between the two of you?” Jatheryn asked, incredulous.

Awenis shook her head. She bit her lip, tucking the hand that sported the infinity ring Darenel had given her into a fold of her dark green gown.

“No. At least, not that I was aware of.”

“Awenis, I am so sorry.” Jatheryn wondered if he might try embracing his sister. She looked so fragile, but also so brittle. When he moved a step closer, she shied back imperceptibly. “I fear I am at least partially to blame. I caught him sneaking out of the house, and warned him that the next time anyone found out about the two of you it had better be because your courtship was openly known.”

“You did!?” Awenis’s exclamation of surprise was a little louder than she had apparently intended, and she winced. “But just that shouldn’t have kept him away this long, not without some sort of message.”

Jatheryn tried to tread carefully in the face of his sister’s dismay. “Forgive me, but is there any chance you might have overestimated his interest-”

Awenis’s pale amber eyes flashed with outrage. Jatheryn wondered if she looked a great deal like Rosarin in their mother’s youth.

“My expectations of Darenel are no less than what he himself told me! Do you really think I’d just imagine…” Suddenly catching herself, Awenis took a deep breath. Much more calmly, she continued. “Thank you for your concern, Jatheryn, but I don’t believe you’re the reason for Darenel’s absence.”

Jatheryn wasn’t sure he believed Awenis, but there was something glacial, forbidding even in his little sister’s eyes that held him at bay. All he could do was nod.

“Well, you know where to find me then, if you do need anything.”

After Awenis closed her door, Jatheryn sighed and made for his own room. He admittedly had little experience with heartbreak and the ways of lovers, but he did not like to think of Awenis navigating such territory alone. Still, if she did not want his help then he would not press her.

Randir’s words still rung in his head as Jatheryn found his way to his favorite seat by the window. For once he did not feel like playing his viol. Instead, he sat and watched the squirrels at play on the branches of the elm tree outside. The rush of self-discovery had faded somewhat, but the possibilities remained. Tentatively, Jatheryn let himself approach the notion of hope for his future.

No longer would he shut himself away from the world and other people. He doubted the nobility of Vaelona would ever let him forget his differences. Still, maybe if he could change then so could they. Curiously he toyed with the idea of seeking out Kendris Farakirn on his own. Did she really like him at least a little? Perhaps with time her family could be brought around to the idea of giving him a chance, if Kendris herself was on his side.

Jatheryn would have sat there alone pondering such notions for hours. As the sun began to set though, he remembered his new promise to himself. Gathering up his resolve, he stood and straightened his appearance in the vanity mirror. Dinner would be soon, and tonight he would join the rest of the family in the drawing room without having to be called down. It was a small gesture, but it was a start.

* * *


	13. A Fire From the East

* * *

Vinie awoke feeling even more stiff than if she had spent the night back on her cot in Utunma’s prison. She and Gideo had gone back to bed shortly after their talk by the window. Getting comfortable on the narrow bed between two other people was next to impossible. If Bakko’s bony knees weren’t jabbing into her one way, then she was coming dangerously close to kicking Gideo the other. How her father managed to sleep so soundly, Vinie had no clue. Their voyage from Utunma to Moaan must have drained the meager old man even more than Vinie or Gideo. Come morning, that still did not make Vinie feel any more like a crowing rooster.

Breakfast was a bowl of porridge with a slice of slightly soggy bread. The bread was warm and tasted of cinnamon though, so none of them even paused before wolfing it down. The pudgy innkeeper pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow at them from the counter as they ate. She seemed to have recovered from her first look at Gideo the day before enough to really notice how rough the three of them were. The innkeeper even claimed that refills were on the house when Gideo tried to pay her for topping up their mugs of cider.

With no more immediate needs to guide them after breakfast, the inevitable question rose to the surface; what now? Sitting in their tiny room at The Gull’s Nest, Vinie quickly grew restless. She stood and went to the window, adjusting her washed and dried vest across her shoulders. Her still recent freedom had done nothing yet to restore much in the way of flesh to her scrawny frame. Even sitting for too long on hard surfaces was uncomfortable.

“The markets are opening,” she commented, peeking through the wooden window slats.

“Mmm, yas.” Gideo paused in the middle of the push-ups he had been doing out of sheer boredom. “I can already hear the crowds gathering.”

“We could probably go out and mingle safely enough. There must be a thousand people out there already,” Vinie said.

“Yas, thousands of Moaanese.” Bakko got up from where he had been lying back on the bed. “We’re darker than they are, more noticeable. What if someone sees you?”

Vinie huffed. “Baba, there are Utunmans out there too. I saw a group of fishermen walk by just a few minutes ago. We can’t just sit about in this stuffy room all day.”

“We can’t just go wandering about like everyday folk!” Bakko looked horrified at the thought, the wrinkles around his eyes multiplying tenfold. “We’re wanted criminals now, and they’ll be looking for us.”

“Bakko, Vinie was barely even an accomplice to a crime that was judged over a decade ago. All that you and I did was sneak in through an unlocked prison door and make Vanti get some exercise. I seriously doubt anyone beyond Utunma knows or even cares about us.”

Gideo pressed himself up on his hands, giving his spine a good backward curl before hopping up onto his feet. Without waiting for further debate, he went to the door and threw it open.

“I’m going out before we turn this room into a breathy sauna. Anyone up for joining me?”

“Come on, Baba.” Vinie went to Bakko and pulled him the rest of the way up off the bed. “We’re not doing any good in here anyways.”

“This isn’t safe,” Bakko moaned, but allowed himself to be dragged down the narrow stairway.

Once they got out into the hot, salty, sea port air, Bakko seemed to take on a new brightness despite his earlier reluctance. Vinie wondered if being here made Bakko feel like his younger self again. 

“Where to?” Gideo asked.

Gideo had to duck to avoid knocking his head on the inn’s rough sign outside the door. Vinie was relieved when he didn’t seem to be asking her in particular. For all the grandiose plans that roiled around in the back of her head, she certainly didn’t know where they ought to be or what they ought to do.

Once again, Bakko’s knowledge of Moaan saved the moment.

“Let’s head inward. The streets are narrower in the heart of Moaan, with shorter lines of sight.”

As they moved away from the docks and the bustle of the market, the character of the city of Moaan became richer and older. The stones on the street were black and smooth from untold centuries of passerby’s sandals. Most all of the buildings were fashioned out of a pale yellow, rough stone. There seemed to be living spaces on the roofs too, shielded from the white-hot sun by large awnings that fluttered in the sea breeze.

“For sleeping on your rooftops at night if the heat is too high,” Bakko explained.

They passed many little shops and cafés in those tight inner streets. Most were reputable looking places with colorful tropical flowers garnishing the window frames and appetizing smells spilling out of their doorways. Sometimes they would turn down a side street and find themselves pressed in on either side by dingy little pawn shops and abandoned spaces. It was an odd juxtaposition. After a while of wandering, Vinie began to notice a pattern; the businesses that flourished seemed to be along what were likely main thoroughfares, while older, neglected streets and their tenants faded away. It was like Moaan was a living entity that had grown so old and so large that it could only choose parts of itself to tend, while sacrificing others to disregard. Overhead, soaring stone bridges cast giagantic shadows across the rooftops, providing quick passage from one quarter of the city to the other.

A group of children ran past, chasing after what Vinie presumed to be a young ape. The little creature was unlike the large, ponderous orangutans that lived a short ways inland around Utunma. If this was an ape, it was the smallest excuse for one Vinie had ever seen. The creature scurried up onto the awning in front of a café and started chattering down at the cluster of children. With its waving black arms and white face, it looked both very cute and very smug at the same time.

“What is that?” Vinie asked, pointing curiously. She felt like a child all over again, wondering at her new surroundings.

“A capuchin,” Bakko replied. “They may look cute, but they’ll steal your lunch if you take your eyes off the little fiends.”

At that exact moment, Gideo let out a short yelp of surprise. Vinie and Bakko spun around to find Gideo trying to contort to get a hold of a second capuchin clinging to his back. The little monkey clung to Gideo’s vest with nimble black fingers, bearing its sharp teeth in a screech.

“Eish! Get off, you!” Gideo squirmed and reached, but couldn’t stretch around himself far enough to catch the monkey. Hearing Gideo’s struggles, the children were beginning to gather around the three of them, laughing and pointing.

“No crowds, no crowds!” Bakko whispered anxiously in Vinie’s ear. “Put a stop to this now!”

Realizing that her father was right, Vinie squeezed between two of the cheering children to come up behind Gideo.

“Hold still for a second Gideo, I’ll get him.”

Seeming to know what Vinie had in mind, the capuchin squealed at her before leaping away into the arms of a bright-eyed little girl. Only then did Vinie notice that both this monkey and the one on the awning were wearing collars.

“Olly, you naughty little monkey!” The little girl scolded the creature, although neither she nor her pet looked very sorry for the whole episode. “Sorry sir, he was just playing.”

“Don’t worry about it, although next time I wouldn’t mind being warned about the game.” Gideo straightened up and laughed, shaking his head. “Now off with you, all you silly monkeys!”

The children turned and scampered away with a flurry of giggles. The second capuchin leapt down off the awning and onto the shoulder of a skinny young boy as they passed. Olly the monkey popped into sight over the little girl’s shoulder and waved something at them before the gaggle disappeared down a side street.

“What was that the monkey had?” Vinie wondered aloud. Around them the people in the shops and restaurants had barely even glanced up at the noisy interlude.

Suddenly Bakko’s eyes went wide. He clapped a gnarled hand to his forehead with a loud groan before rounding on Gideo.

“Check your coin purse, quick!”

Gideo’s expression went from cheerful to startled in a blink. A quick pat-down of his vest and cloth belt turned up no ringing of coins. With a groan, Gideo made as if to sprint off after the children. Bakko caught his arm before he got going though.

“No use boy, by now they’ve already gone into the maze of Moaan’s alleys. Even if you knew the city, you couldn’t fit into the places where they’ll hide.”

Gideo deflated. Shoving a hand through his curly dark hair in frustration, he ground his teeth.

“That was everything I had left. Now we’ll have no money for the innkeeper tonight.” 

“Bat your eyelashes at her a few times and she might let us sleep on the floor,” Vinie remarked dryly. When neither Gideo nor Bakko laughed, she held up her hands placating. “Sorry, bad joke. We’ll have to make do. If all else fails we can just sleep in the dhow.”

“We might even be more comfortable there than in that scrawny little bed,” Gideo grumbled. He glared balefully in the direction that the urchins had run before turning away with Vinie and Bakko.

* * *

The sound of distant shouting distracted them from the theft of Gideo’s coin purse. This was far removed from the cheerful shrieks of children at play. Coming from a major thoroughfare at the end of the side-street, it sounded more like the rumble of a growing crowd. 

“Come on.” Vinie waved Gideo and Bakko onward. “Something’s happening.” 

“We shouldn’t.” Bakko hesitated, once again unsure.

“Whatever is going on, it doesn’t have to do with us,” Gideo reassured the older man. “We won’t even be noticed.”

With Bakko following reluctantly, Gideo and Vinie joined the folks who were leaving their meals in the café to go see what the noise was about. As they made their way out into the main road they were caught up in a current of people, all headed in the same direction.

Short as she was, Vinie could scarcely see beyond the person in front of her. She reached back behind herself blindly and felt someone catch her hand. It felt like Bakko with his bent and roughened fingers. Doing their best to stay together, they let the crowd carry them along to wherever it was headed.

They found themselves suddenly with space to move as they entered into a large square. Tall sandstone buildings ringed the space, hemming in the crowd like weather beaten sentinels. Red and black flags fluttered from a particularly large building with a hippocampus engraved into its face above the doors. Before this building there stood a worn wooden scaffold and a royal magistrate in black robes with a golden sash.

Abruptly, Vinie was transported back to the day Zaneo and his family had been executed. She stopped dead in midstride, her heart hammering in her ears. Despite the heat of the day, a cold sweat broke out on the nape of her neck. She could feel the bite of manacles around her wrists once again, could see the gleam of the executioner’s axe. A dull roaring grew inside her head as black dots scampered across the scene.

Eyes wide with panic, Vinie fell back a step and knocked into someone. The crushing pressure on her hand brought her back to the present. It was Bakko. Looking equally horrified, Bakko grabbed Vinie’s other hand in his and tugged.

“Come away, come away!” he hissed, staring at the scaffold with a terror that almost matched Vinie’s.

They were about to turn away when the magistrate mounted the platform and began to speak.

“Citizens of Goran, once again we must gather to witness the law of the realm. No one, be they from Moaan, Derbesh, Syrion, or even Amenthere is above the rules that guide and keep us all living together in harmony. Guards, bring out the prisoner.”

At the far end of the square a door opened. The panic still screamed through Vinie’s veins, but suddenly she had to stay. She needed to see the face of the prisoner, to know who they were. Everyone around her was so much taller though. Hissing in frustration, Vinie craned her neck in a futile effort to see. A murmur went through the crowd, sounding curious.

“Here, Vinie.” Gideo appeared behind her, offering an open arm.

Trying to reassure Bakko, Vinie squeezed her father’s hand before letting go and turning to Gideo. Gideo wrapped his arms beneath her hips and hoisted her upward until she could get a hold of his sweaty neck. Half perched, half braced against Gideo’s side, Vinie finally had a clear view of the square. 

The prisoner was not a southerner, much to Vinie’s surprise. It was a man, close to hers and Gideo’s age, if not a year or two younger. His hooded brows, warm complexion, and almond shaped eyes placed him as being from eastern Goran. He was bound with rope at the wrists, and struggled fiercely as the Moaanese Guards on either side hauled him toward the scaffold. 

When it came to the stairs, the prisoner almost managed to escape. Vinie sucked in a breath when the easterner wedged a foot against the bottom step and nearly broke his own ankle trying to throw the guards off balance. One guard stumbled, but the other struck the prisoner hard enough across the head to prevent an escape attempt. The crowd was silent, unsure if they ought to be cheering, jeering, or sympathetic.

With their dazed captive between them, the guards dragged him toward the magistrate and turned to face the square. The magistrate curled his lip at the prisoner before opening the scroll he held.

“Nadathan N’Shar, you have been found guilty of consuming an illegal substance in public. The possession and smoking of sativa weed is banned in Goran. You were caught fouling the air with your fumes outside The Starfish Inn the night before last. Do you deny it?”

Gideo let out a brief snort. “What boy in all of Utunma hasn’t smoked sativa at least once?” He kept his voice low though, so that only Vinie heard.

Up on the scaffold, the easterner shook himself back into his senses before lifting his head. His sweaty hair was oddly straight, unlike the curly locks of southerners. There was almost an amused defiance in his voice when he spoke.

“I don’t deny that you Moaanese are the most hypocritical bunch I’ve ever met when it comes to creature comforts. Your sailors drink themselves silly without a thought, but a few puffs on a pipe are punishable by law? Where I come from, we don’t even consider smoking uncouth, much less illegal!”

“Enough.” The magistrate interrupted. “Sativa is illegal throughout all of Goran, even if the east would like to think itself somehow removed from the civilized world.” Closing the scroll, he beckoned to a hooded figure with arms so muscular the veins bulged across them. “The punishment for public use of an illegal substance is twenty-five lashes. Proceed.”

“They’re going to whip him just for smoking?” Vinie gasped.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away as the guards spun the easterner around and tied his bound wrists to a pole in the middle of the scaffold. They tore open the back of his shirt, exposing a lean, smooth back to the crowd. Quick as a striking scorpion, the man spat straight into the face of one of the guards before he could move away. That earned him a strike to the head hard enough to make even many in the crowd murmur uncomfortably.

“Enough, the lash will have a less meaningful lesson if he’s too dazed to feel it,” said the magistrate.

Moaan’s executioner approached, unfurling a long, wicked looking whip that shone like a snake in the sun. A scuffle broke out in the crowd near the edge of the scaffold. Shading her eyes, Vinie realized that there was a woman fighting to get to the platform. She was shouting so many curses and threats strung together it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the next began.

A hand gripped her leg, squeezing warningly. Glancing down at Bakko, Vinie was reminded of how her father had fought for her on the way to the executioner. No one had stood up and fought with him that terrible day. But what if someone had?

The executioner drew back a powerful arm, raising the whip behind him. The woman’s shouting near the front went abruptly from furious cursing to anxious shouts. Some were trying to hold her back, or perhaps comfort her, but she wanted none of their pity. 

“Nadathan, I’m here!” she called out.

Then the whip fell, its hissing crack echoing through the air.

That did it. Vinie could not, would not watch this. Hurriedly tearing a strip off the bottom of her shirt, she cried down to Bakko.

“Baba, give me a rock.”

Vinie could feel the wild gleam in her eyes—whether Bakko could see it or not she didn’t know. He must have, because for some equally crazy reason he did not argue with his daughter. Expression stricken, Bakko bent down and plucked up a large, round stone from the street and handed it to Vinie. The whip cracked again.

Dropping the stone into her makeshift sling, Vinie pulled herself right up onto Gideo’s shoulder. He grunted in surprise, but quickly realized what she was doing. Gripping tight to her legs to keep her aboard, Gideo bent his head down well out of the way.

“Stop it! That’s enough!” Vinie screamed, hauling back for the throw.

 _That’s enough. No more_ , she cried out inside. _I cannot bear red flags and bloody scaffolds anymore_.

Every head in the crowd turned toward her as she spun her sling hard and fast. The executioner paused, the whip already bloody in his grip. Vinie let the stone fly, whistling through the air like a striking bird. It caught the executioner full in the face, hard. The man fell to the platform like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The magistrate was on his feet, shouting orders to the guards already. He pointed directly at Vinie.

“Arrest that woman, right this minute! I want her whipped raw right alongside the prisoner for that!”

“Over my dead body,” Vinie heard Gideo growl.

“This way, we have to run!” Bakko was already pointing out a side street which none of them had noticed before. “We can’t let them arrest any of us, especially Vinie.”

Four Moaanese Guards in bronze platemail started down off the scaffolding toward them. The easterner was trying to crane his neck over his bleeding shoulder to see what was going on.

“Leave her be! She’s right; this is nonsense.” A booming voice spoke up at the front of the crowd. A large figure moved to block the soldiers, and Vinie was surprised to recognize the innkeeper of The Gull’s Nest. Beefy arms crossed over her bosom in defiance, the innkeeper stood up against armed soldiers.

“Out of the way, woman,” one of the soldiers ordered.

“No. You, I, and every other idiot on two legs in this entire city has puffed sativa at least once. I don’t care what the damn capital says, I’m not moving.”

“Get out of the way or I’ll make you!” The guard drew his falchion and brandished it threateningly in the innkeeper’s face.

Now there were angry murmurs coming from every direction in the crowd. The woman who had called out to the prisoner earlier made to charge the scaffold. She was blocked by one of the guards, who struck her across the face hard enough to make her fall back.

That was a step too far. It had been one thing to watch an eastern “criminal” be whipped by Gorian law. Threatening to likewise flog a fellow southerner and striking a bystander was quite another. The crowd was already uneasy about such a heavy penalty for an infraction that no one in southern Goran really considered a crime anyways.

A fight broke out at the front of the square. Vinie couldn’t tell who had thrown the next punch after the guard struck the woman. She thought she could see the innkeeper in the thick of things though, smacking one of the soldiers hard with a heavy key ring. 

Wriggling down off of Gideo’s shoulder, Vinie threaded through the roaring throng toward the scaffold. She was cuffed, bumped, and bruised by many a wayward elbow, but she hardly noticed through the haze of adrenaline. Her heart was thundering in her ears again, but this time in a good way.

Then she was out in the open, in the middle of a melee. More soldiers – some Moaanese Guards and some royal army soldiers - had run in from the sides of the square to try and help their fellows. More people joined in from the crowd, all trying to either pummel a guard or help a friend.

The prisoner’s would-be rescuer was on her feet again. This time she was unhindered when she rushed to help the prisoner. She was so intent on the rescue that she paid no mind to the magistrate. 

Vinie saw the magistrate though; saw as he drew a dagger from the golden sash of his uniform. The eastern woman’s fingers flew at the knots that tied her companion to the post. She wouldn’t finish quickly enough to see the danger.

Boiling with the heat of the moment, Vinie didn’t even think before bolting up the steps of the scaffold. The prisoner noticed the magistrate then, and shouted out a belated warning. His rescuer looked up just as Vinie sprinted past and pounced on the magistrate.

She fought like a wildcat, using every dirty tactic that she had never dared use in her girlhood days when play-fighting with Zaneo and Gideo. Getting a hold of the knife and getting it away from her opponent was the top priority. Her face was scratched, her nose was bloodied, but still she hung on as the two of them toppled to the wooden boards. On the ground the upper hand shifted to the larger magistrate. He was taller and broader than Vinie, and she just couldn’t control all of his flailing limbs on her own. Something bit at her arms, and Vinie returned the favor by biting with her teeth.

Then abruptly the fight shifted again. Now there was a third combatant, even bigger than the magistrate and smelling of sweat and strawberries. Vinie was knocked to one side and went rolling away into a crouch. Now Gideo was straddling the magistrate, choking him with one hand and bashing the hand that clutched the knife with the other. Gideo was both tall and strong, and it didn’t take too much convincing for the man to buckle. The knife slipped out of his grasp and went skittering away across the platform.

“Are you alright?” Gideo shouted, both hands now wrapped around the magistrate’s neck. Fire blazed once again in his dark eyes as he glowered down at his captive. A bit of blood leaked from the magistrates’s mouth into his iron-grey beard.

“Yas, yas I’m fine.” Vinie staggered up to her feet. Her face ached and she could feel blood on her lip.

Limping as he ran, Bakko finally caught up and rushed to Vinie’s side.

“You’re a damn fool, girl, a damn fool!” Bakko scolded, grabbing hold of Vinie’s waist and pulling her further upright. “Are you trying to go back to prison?”

Vinie didn’t really have a good answer, so she just smiled what was probably a rather crooked smile.

“No one is going to prison, Baba…look!”

Down in the crowd, the soldiers had been thoroughly beaten by the sheer crush of numbers. One was unconscious and currently being sat on by The Gull’s Nest’s innkeeper. The others were nowhere to be seen, but it sounded like the edge of the crowd was driving them away at the far end of the square. The roar of excitement was still piqued, and everywhere people cheered with pride at their perceived accomplishment. To confront Gorian officials was simply not done, it just wasn’t. To the folk of Moaan, they might as well have faced and conquered a dragon with that one simple skirmish.

The prisoner was free now, and together he and the woman approached Vinie, Bakko, and Gideo. If he was in pain from the lashes on his back, the easterner did not show it. His only concession was to grip his companion’s elbow as he walked.

He was strange to Vinie’s eyes. Neither he nor the woman was as exotically pale as the king or his Obads had been at Zaneo’s trial, but neither were they the rich, dark complexion of the south. They reminded Vinie of one of Selmay the bawd’s half-blooded children. Their hooked noses and hooded brows made their faces seem rather thin, but that was evened out by the fullness of their lips. Both had vibrant brown eyes and hair to match.

Their garb was different than everyone else’s too. The man’s shirt was gone, but his pants were loose, a sort of billowing fabric that cinched at the shins. The woman wore similar pants with a long tunic slitted at the hips and decorated around the collar with tiny beads. One of her eyes was swelling, lids already bruised dark purple.

The man gazed curiously at Vinie for a moment before cracking a slight grimace that might have been a smile.

“Either you are even more of a committed smoker than I am…” he ventured “…or you’re even less of a follower of the law. Either way, you started all this for our sake. For that, I am in your debt.”

He made a fist and curled it to his brow before opening it and extending it toward Vinie. The woman mirrored the gesture at his side.

“I am Sula G’Hesh, and he is my lover, Nadathan N’Shar.” The woman spoke in a surprisingly deep, throaty voice. “His debt is my debt, owed to you and your friends.”

Vinie wiped her nose with the back of her hand, stemming the trickle of blood before she answered.

“I’m Vinie, Vinie…” She was about to elaborate when she realized that her surname no longer applied. What was she now? “Just Vinie. This is my father, Bakko, and that’s Gideo.”

Bakko and Gideo both nodded, Gideo perhaps more curtly, as the magistrate was trying to buck him off at the moment. An elbow to the windpipe kept the man fastened to the scaffold. Vinie noticed the executioner lying nearby, blood pooling around his head from where her rock had struck him. Whether he still lived or no, Vinie couldn’t tell. She decided she didn’t want to know.

“We’ll have time for further talk later,” said Nadathan. “Right now, we have an audience.”

Sure enough, Vinie noticed then that the entire crowd gathered in the square was watching them. What were they waiting for? It wouldn’t be long before word got to the city center of what had happened here. There would be many, many more Moaanese Guards and royal soldiers overrunning this place very soon.

Glancing back and forth between Nadathan and Sula and her own companions, Vinie was shocked to realize that they were all looking to her. What was she supposed to say to all of these people? She had never spoken to a large group before. Would half of them even hear her if she shouted?

Tentatively, Vinie cleared her throat. Looking down, she saw a smear of blood on the boards beneath her feet and remembered Zaneo’s blood on a scaffold not unlike this one. The memory lit a fire in her belly that brought her voice rushing back, strong and unfaltering to her lips.

“This is not our way.” Her words carried sure and strong, loud enough even to surprise Vinie herself. “This is Amenthere’s way, the crown’s way. The capital has no right to come here and force their laws on us.” An approving look from Nadathan and Sula spurred her on. “What if things could be different? What if we could choose our laws and lives for ourselves, without fear of the king? What does Mahir even know of the south?

No one in the square moved, not even when the soldier beneath the innkeeper began to stir. She merely shifted her considerable weight, eliciting a muffled groan from the man. Emboldened and gaining momentum, Vinie continued.

“Amenthere tells us Goran is one country, belonging to the heirs of a hero who conquered the world a thousand years ago. If Amenthis was a hero, that time was long, long ago and past. What right does Mahir, son of Maheadron, have to bend the world to his word?”

A head bobbed in the crowd. Attached to it was an older woman in rich looking orange silks with a colorful head wrap. She stared back at Vinie with a curious intensity.

“Our world is not his, not if this is how he intends to rule; with absolutism and arrogance. The south is not some meek, lesser province, and we do not have to be Gorians…not if we choose a new way for ourselves.”

“You are not alone. The east is no fiefdom either,” Sula spoke loudly and firmly. “Like you, we are tired of answering to a king, worlds away in his marble tower. Our ways are not the same, and still we are expected to bow to the laws of Amenthere. See how the capital treats those who do not obey!”

Sula gripped Nadathan by the upper arm and turned him around. Nadathan did not bow his head as the crowd rumbled angrily. Two bright red stripes crisscrossed his back, the flesh around them inflamed and painful.

“At the king of Goran’s word, a beautiful, gentle young man whose only crime is being born a Son of the Sea can have his head struck from his shoulders.” Vinie’s voice rose higher, louder, ringing around the entire square. “At the king’s word, the girl who loved him can spend ten years wasting away in a dark prison cell alone. Tell me, is that our way?”

“No!” Several voices called back in the crowd, causing heads to swivel.

“Today can mean something,” Vinie cried out. “You can go back to your homes, write this off as just a strange day in Moaan, or you can think of something bigger. You can imagine what it would mean if the south made its own laws. What would it mean to you, your family and your friends? What if we had a country to call our own? Would you fight for that country, and for every son and daughter of the south who ever suffered beneath the rule of Amenthere?”

At the mention of fighting there was an uncertain silence. Vinie did not shy away from the void. She flung out a hand toward Nadathan.

“Today you fought for him. Tomorrow we could fight for a hundred more. We could stay the lashes and break the chains. You have seen here how it is not impossible, it never was impossible! The only thing that has ever held us back is our own fear.”

“Soldiers coming!” Someone shouted from the far edge of the square.

Immediately everyone began to jostle and scramble for an escape. Vinie knew she only had seconds left before she would be lost in the chaos. She had to choose her final cry carefully.

“Don’t forget what it felt like to stand up today. Let us choose our own way!” 

Everyone in the square was far too busy trying to find a safe exit route to respond, but Vinie hoped her words had reached them.

“Vinie, come on, we have to go!”

Bakko grabbed Vinie’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs. This time she went with him, quickly catching up with Gideo and the others. The clatter of armor and the thunder of dozens of heavy footfalls grew closer with every second. Getting lost in the crowd was easy. Suddenly someone caught hold of Vinie’s wrist.

It was Nadathan. “As I said, we owe you a debt, Vinie. If you wish to find us, we would hear more of your talk about finding a new way.” He had to shout to be heard above the din.

“Where?” Vinie shouted back

“Look for the jaliboot with the green hull in The Serpent’s Tunnel. We’ll leave a lantern lit.”

Just like that, Nadathan was gone, slipped away into the throng of fleeing Moaanese with Sula. The fire the easterners had rekindled within Vinie burned brightly still, even as she, Bakko, and Gideo fled into the alleys of Moaan.

* * *


	14. An Unforgivable Truth

* * *

The sound of quiet crying woke Jatheryn in the middle of the night. It was so soft that he wondered at how he could have possibly heard anything from deep in his dreams. Holding his breath, he could hear it from the wall between his and Awenis’s rooms. There it came again; soft sniffles muffled as though into a pillow.

Jatheryn sat up in bed and swung his feet over the side. The rug was cool beneath his feet, its colors seeped away by the paleness of the moonlight. It was a full moon tonight, and Jatheryn didn’t even need to light a candle to find his night robe slung over the vanity chair. Tightening the belt over his black satin nightclothes, Jatheryn made for the door.

Only once he was standing out in the hallway in front of Awenis’s door did he pause. The candles on the chandelier over the stairway had almost burnt down to stubs, suggesting the night was very old at this hour.

Was it his place to go in? Did Awenis even want him at her side? His hand faltered in midair. 

Another soft, choked sob reached him, standing alone out in the hall. He saw his reflection, distorted in the dull gleam of the brass doorknob. His father was right; he did look like a ghost. Standing out here in the shadows listening to his sister cry, he certainly felt like one. Perhaps he ought to go back to bed and leave Awenis in peace as she had asked earlier.

_How you choose to spend your wretched existence is less like living and more like haunting!_

Jahaelis’s angry words came back to Jatheryn in the quiet of the night. Ghosts could not speak though, and certainly could not comfort.

“I am not a ghost,” Jatheryn whispered to himself. Then he turned the doorknob and went in.

Awenis’s room was brighter than his. The balcony windows and curtains were pulled all the way open, almost expectantly, allowing the full radiance of the moon to cast a silvery glow across the bed. Awenis sat bolt upright, clutching at the covers over her filmy white nightdress.

“Jatheryn, what are you doing?” she gasped. Tear tracks glistened on her face in the moonlight. Her white-blonde hair floated in an untidy cloud around her pale shoulders. “Why didn’t you knock?”

“Because I didn’t know if you would let me in.” Jatheryn approached the bed and sat down on a far corner.

“I…” Awenis rubbed at her puffy eyes. “…Could you hear me?”

Jatheryn nodded. “I could. Awenis, will you talk about it?”

“What is there to say?”

“Anything…Everything. I fear I may have driven off Darenel Tremaris, so surely you must have things you want to say to me.” When Awenis drew up her knees to her chin beneath the blankets, Jatheryn pursued her, leaning forward. “Please Awenis, just talk. Be angry even, if you will.”

Awenis backhanded her cheek again, another tear escaping. “It’s not that. I’m not angry at you Jatheryn, I swear I’m not.”

“Then at Darenel?”

“No…yes…Jath, I’m afraid.” Awenis’s voice grew smaller with every syllable. She hugged her legs tightly to her chest, her amber eyes wide.

“Afraid of what?” Jatheryn frowned. “No one besides me knew about you and Darenel, I’m sure of it. You’re not in any danger of dishonor, nor is he.”

“But I am…I am,” Awenis whispered. “It is inevitable. I can’t hide it, not for long.”

“Hide what? Awenis, I know you must be heartbroken, but you’re not making sense. What are you so afraid of?”

Awenis clutched at her bed sheets, wringing the linen so tightly that it pleated in her grasp. Then suddenly she swung her legs sideways and slid out of bed. Nightdress trailing like mist behind her, she went to her bedside table and rummaged for a moment. Puzzled, Jatheryn sat, waiting for comprehension.

Straightening up, Awenis held up a small vial of cloudy liquid. It looked almost pearlescent by the light of the full moon.

“This is the usual draught that I’ve taken every moon cycle, without fail, for the last six years since I first began my courses. It’s for my women’s pain, you remember?”

“I remember,” Jatheryn confirmed.

How could he ever forget those first few months when Awenis was little more than a child, screaming in agony and clutching her stomach? According to their mother it was very unusual for a young girl to experience such discomfort, and they had feared for Awenis’s health. A hasty trip to the nearest apothecary had yielded relief. Even now, it still wasn’t unusual for Awenis to spend three to five days out of every moon cycle on a couch somewhere, curled up like an over-cooked shrimp.

Awenis set the little vial down on her bedside table with a soft ‘clink’. She fell back onto the bed, enfolding herself tightly. She trembled like a frightened kitten.

“That draught was meant to be taken nearly two weeks ago. I’ve waited and I’ve waited, but I never needed it. Nor did I bleed.”

Jatheryn felt his throat go dry. He, like every other educated youth in Vaelona, had a comprehensive knowledge of the sciences, both natural and physical. His eyes immediately went to Awenis’s midsection, hidden beneath her pale arms.

“Two weeks ago?” he managed to ask, sounding as breathless as if someone had struck him in the gut. “Awenis…you think you are…with child?”

Awenis’s chin barely moved, but it was a nod all the same. What little color she had seemed to have sapped away, leaving her as white as Jatheryn.

“I am almost certain. There are other signs too, little things that I would probably miss if I weren’t so alert to them. Unless there is something else wrong with me - and I can’t imagine what else this could be - I am pregnant.”

Jatheryn felt like the floor had dropped open beneath them, leaving him and his sister dangling their feet off the side of the bed and over a gaping void. To stand up would be to fall into the darkness and uncertainty that lurked below. All of Jatheryn’s worries regarding his own future were instantly and utterly eclipsed by something so much bigger and more terrifying.

“How long until…” Jatheyrn swallowed hard. He had to think, but it was so hard. “…until it becomes noticeable to others?”

Awenis’s gaze fell to her stomach. Lightly, almost fearfully, she grazed a fingertip across her nightdress.

“I don’t know, perhaps another few weeks? I’m so slight though, there’s nowhere on me to hide anything. It will be as obvious as if I were to start growing a third arm.” She hugged herself once again. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to find a way to talk to Darenel alone about it, but all the gossip says he hasn’t even left the Tremaris estate in the last week.”

“We have to talk to Darenel, immediately, even if I have to kidnap him from his own bed to get him here,” Jatheryn said. “He had better have an excellent explanation for this long absence, or I swear…” Realizing he was getting off topic, Jatheryn mentally shook himself. “Darenel stands to lose as much as you do in this, Awenis. Once you talk to him, I’m sure he’ll agree that you have no time to lose in making your courtship public. It won’t look good, you being with child before a formal betrothal, and no doubt all of Vaelona will be buzzing. Still, I would be willing to bet that the second our family and his gets wind of your news, there will be a wedding in the making within the week. A few years from now when the two of you are married and your child born and beautiful, this will be old news even to the gossips.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “Everything will turn out alright in the end, even if you and Darenel are in for some ugly days in the here and now. Maybe this is even a good thing; Darenel will have to find his courage and the two of you won’t be able to hide anymore even if you wanted to.”

Awenis smiled uneasily, an expression that did not quite manage to reach her eyes. “I want this to be a good thing, so I hope you’re right, Jath.” Again she touched her stomach, less gingerly this time. “I was talking to the baby the other night, when I was sure Jenni had gone. Sometimes I think I could start to love it already, just knowing that it’s a part of me and a part of Darenel.”

“It’s a part of you, so I think I could almost begin to love it too.” Jatheryn edged closer, allowing himself for the first time to explore the happier side of Awenis’s news. “Imagine that; you to be a mother, and I an uncle. Aren’t we still but children ourselves?”

Awenis looked up at Jatheryn with a grave smile then, and finally Jatheryn understood Awenis’s recent change in apparel and styling habits. 

“We are older than we were even just a year ago, Jath, and older still than the year before. Maybe growing up doesn’t so much happen in a steady procession as it does in bursts, sudden moments that change the way you see the world forever.” She patted her still flat stomach one last time. 

“Are you still afraid?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Awenis shivered as a chill breeze came in from the balcony. When Jatheryn stood and made to close it she called him back though. “Don’t. That’s how…how Darenel always comes in. I never know if tonight will be the night he might return.”

“Soon it will be dawn, Awenis.” Jatheryn marked the low dip of the moon in the starry night sky. “Darenel is not coming tonight.” Seeing Awenis’s crestfallen expression he added, “I swear by the stars though, first thing after breakfast I am going straight to the Tremaris estate to drag Darenel back here by his ear. One way or another, he _will_ be returned to you.”

Awenis stood up and came to Jatheryn’s side. Brother and sister embraced one another in a way that they had not done in some time. It felt good, like Jatheryn finally knew Awenis entirely once again. No doubt there would be an ugly reckoning in the Saurivic estate once they freed the cat from the bag. Jatheryn imagined they had survived worse though, and to be honest, the thought of being an uncle was both fearful and exciting.

When he had left Awenis getting back into bed and returned to his own room, Jatheryn laid awake staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. How could he possibly sleep knowing what he knew now? He marveled at how Awenis could manage to find any rest, herself being the one at the very heart of all this. When the sun began to crest and the birds in the gardens burst into song, Jatheryn was still just as awake as he had been since Awenis’s tears awoke him in the dead of night.

* * *

True to his word, Jatheryn announced that he was going out after breakfast once the tea was nearly down to its leaves. When Awenis added that she was going out too, Rosarin and Jahaelis had sent them off without protest. If anything, their parents looked relieved that Jatheryn’s newfound willingness to depart his room was not a temporary insanity. The air in the Saurivic household finally seemed to be resuming a sort of normalcy, and Jatheryn silently lamented that it could not last. Still, a union with the powerful Tremaris family could only be welcomed as a good thing in the long run, couldn’t it?

It was a marvel to Jatheryn how composed Awenis looked, despite knowing their destination. She once again had her cornsilk hair coifed in a half up-do that pinned up the top of her long tresses while leaving the rest free to spill down her back. The skirts of her charcoal grey dress whispered along the ground as they walked, sequined detailing on her bodice and long, fitted sleeves catching the pale dawn sunlight. She did not speak nor look at him, and he likewise kept his gaze ahead on the street.

The walk to the Tremaris estate was not long, and they encountered few people on the way. Vaelona was a city that took its time about rising and shining in the early hours. Plus, everyone would need to be well rested for that evening’s round of parties and soirees.

The Tremaris estate was one of the few family compounds larger than the Saurivic estate. Located only blocks from major Vaelonese landmarks such as the Rainbow Gardens and the Bardic College, the Tremaris estate was a masterpiece in and of itself. Long rows of perfectly trimmed fir trees lined the walkway out front, coming together on either side of a twisted metal gate. The blue and white diamond that was the Tremaris family emblem hung at the center of the gate, framed by tendrils of metal that curled out of the bars like living vines. Beyond, acres of verdant green lawn and blooming cherry trees decorated the grounds. If an artist was given nothing more than the description ‘the perfect noble manor’ to work off of, they would likely paint a scene of the Tremaris home.

A boy roughly Taevrin’s age dressed in a pale blue surcoat stepped into view on the other side of the gate. His eyes grew slightly wider when he saw Jatheryn and Awenis, but he quickly regained his composure.

“You have business with the Tremaris family?” the young gateman asked.

“I’m here to see Darenel,” Awenis declared. There was iron in her voice. “Tell him that Awenis Saurivic awaits him at the gate.”

The boy hesitated. “I have orders from Lady Marielle that Darenel is not taking visitors at the moment. You will have to call back later, Lady Saurivic.”

“Fine then, I will speak to Lady Marielle.” Awenis did not back down, but looked imperiously down her nose at the gate guard. Jatheryn definitely saw a strong resemblance between Awenis and their mother now. 

“…Wait here.”

The boy rushed away down the immaculate front drive toward the main house. A trio of terriers jumped up from where they had been wrestling in the shade of a cherry tree to chase after him playfully.

Waiting next to Awenis at the gate, Jatheryn thought about checking on how Awenis was feeling. One look sideways prompted him to reconsider. Long gone was the scared, vulnerable little sister he had comforted in the dead of night only hours ago. In her place stood a glacial, untouchable noblewoman with ice in her eyes and steel in her spine.

Several long minutes later the gate guard returned. He looked petrified.

“Lady Marielle will see you now. This way, Lord and Lady Saurivic.”

Taking a second to adjust the cuffs of his black and gold tunic and smooth his hair, Jatheryn realized belatedly that it had been several days since he dyed it. No doubt the snowy white roots were showing. There was nothing to be done about it now. Trying his best to forget about it, Jatheryn followed at Awenis’s side. The three little terriers sniffed curiously at their heels as they climbed the gleaming white steps.

The Tremaris house looked somewhat different in the light of day; Jatheryn was mostly used to seeing the interior lit by chandeliers for an evening party. Their escort led the pair of them through the sun-drenched front foyer to a drawing room filled with the scent of tulips. Marielle Tremaris sat with a razor straight back on the sofa. Her dark eyes glittered as coldly up as the sapphires pinned in her earlobes. She did not rise to greet them.

“Lady Marielle.”

Jatheryn and Awenis could hardly offer the traditional greeting with Marielle still seated. Instead they opted for a quick bow and curtsy. Awenis opened her mouth to speak when Marielle cut her off.

“Surely our doorman must have told you that Darenel is not available, Lady Awenis.” Marielle’s gaze was flinty. Even in their chilliest greeting lines, Jatheryn had never seen such unvarnished distaste from the Tremaris family head. “I am half surprised you did not simply climb in through his window. That is how most of your little rendezvous were conducted after all, were they not?”

“Available or not, we must talk to Darenel, Lady Marielle,” Jatheryn interceded. “Believe me; we would not have come if it was not of the utmost importance.”

“The childish sneaking about of two youths is hardly important, Jatheryn Saurivic. As the still unwed heir to the Saurivic name, I should think you have your own business to mind, rather than chasing after your sister and her uncondoned flirtations.”

“Lady Marielle, let us speak plainly.” Awenis’s characteristically light, airy voice snapped like a carriage driver’s whip.

“Gladly.” There was almost a vindictive relief in Marielle’s sarcastic reply.

“I am a daughter of the Saurivic family, a lineage no less proud and worthy, if not perhaps more so than the Tremaris family. We are on equal footing, your great-nephew and I. I never saw the point of all the “childish sneaking”, as you called it, but neither I nor Darenel were ready to openly state our intentions. I am here, stating my intentions now. I would prefer to do so with Darenel present, but if you insist on keeping him hidden then I will carry on anyways. I have pledged myself to Darenel, and he had done the same for me. The proof is here.”

Awenis held up her hand, the silver infinity ring on full display. Now that Jatheryn saw it in total daylight he realized that the silver had a blue tint to it. Twilight Silver, a rare and precious variant found only at the bottom of Aryna Lake beside . Jatheryn’s estimation of Darenel’s commitment to his sister increased exponentially. Twilight Silver could fetch a commanding price even in such small amounts as Awenis’s ring.

Marielle’s iron grey brows flew together and her mouth pursed in what promised to be an excellent snarl. Awenis kept straight on though, not letting the Tremaris matron gather the breath for speech.

“You cannot keep Darenel from me forever, nor I from him. I am more than prepared to go public with our courtship…and with the name of my unborn child’s father.”

Jatheryn snapped an astonished eye toward his sister. Awenis’s voice had barely wavered, even as she uttered the damning pronouncement. He hadn’t expected her to go all the way with this confrontation, but now she had. It was done.

Slowly, soundlessly, Marielle Tremaris rose from her seat on the couch. The warm sunlight spilling into the room was powerless to combat the bone-deep chill that emanated from the woman. It was nearly impossible not to quail before such intense, unfiltered coldness.

“You fancy yourself a real little Cliodne Iralar, don’t you, Awenis Saurivic? Claim an unwed pregnancy, threaten everyone involved, and watch the family heads bow to your wishes, is that it? Let me tell you how this will really work, snake. Even if you are with child, which I don’t believe you truly are, you don’t have the courage to announce to the world what you’ve done. You think you do? Alright then, here’s what happens next. Old Jalborn comes to me full of righteous indignation, demanding I give in and approve the marriage. I refuse, because I am the head of this family and that is my right.”

“How can you do such a thing?” Jatheryn demanded, feeling anger and disbelief curl together in his belly. “You would ruin not only Awenis’s name, but also Darenel’s as well? Do you really care so little for your own kin?”

Marielle drew back her lip at Jatheryn in the ultimate expression of disgust.

“Have you ever actually _seen_ yourself in a mirror, either of you, or your mother for that matter? No one in all of Vaelona would blame me for barring a marriage between a son of the Tremaris family and one of the Saurivic clan’s diseased rejects. Don’t you wonder why your family has never tried to arrange a match for you before, Awenis?” Marielle did not wait for an answer. “You and Jatheryn are both throwaways. Of course Jahaelis and Rosarin must try to pawn you off on someone, anyone, Jatheryn. To do any less would be to admit defeat, to admit what everyone else in Vaelona already knows, including your grandfather. _You and yours will not be the heads of the Saurivic family_.”

The angry rebuttal Jatheryn had been preparing died on his tongue. The mention of his grandfather caught him off guard.

“What are you talking about, Marielle?” Awenis snarled. All pretense of manners or formality were long forgotten. “Jatheryn is the eldest child of an eldest child, of course he will be the family head.”

“No, he won’t.”

Icicles clung to every word as it escaped Marielle’s leering mouth. Then the older woman seemed to realize just what damage her next words would inflict. Something that could almost have been called pity flickered across her angular, makeup-laden face.

“Neither you nor your brother were expected to survive long enough to come of age. Of course you don’t remember…how could you? You were such sickly children, always half asleep, always looking like corpses frozen in the winter snow. No one - not your grandfather, not your father, and certainly not your mother - planned on you reaching maturity. They are in such a panic now to try and arrange a match for you, Jatheryn, because they are beginning to realize that you might just live long enough to claim your birthright. And all the while Tyene waits and watches in the wings, seething silently as her eldest son loses out on headship of the mighty Saurivic family to a ghost of a boy whom no one expected to see ten years. When Jatheryn does not wed, one way or another, the Saurivic family will pass to Tyene’s bloodline.”

“You’re lying,” Awenis said. It sounded more like a plea than a statement though. “Even for you Marielle, this is ghastly; to say such things just to call us off.”

“Am I? Perhaps you ought to ask the ones who never planned for your futures in the first place. Ask Lord Jalborn, Lord Jahaelis, and Lady Rosarin, and see if you can get the truth from them for once. I have many faults, and I know them well. I am sharp-tongued, ungentle, and stubborn as a mule. Let no one ever claim that I am a liar, for I will always tell the unvarnished truth that no one wants to hear.”

Marielle pulled a bell cord hanging by the polished mantle. The young gate guard reappeared, this time accompanied by a broad butler with fists like hams.

“It is time for the both of you to go,” Marielle said with a tone of finality. “Awenis, I will never give my blessing to a marriage between you and my great-nephew, and that is my last word on the subject. He is young and meant for more than life in the shadow of your family’s curse. Now leave, and do not come back.”

* * *

Jatheryn wondered if Awenis might try to call out for Darenel as they were escorted out the front door. She did pause on the threshold, gazing back toward the grand main stair with its golden embellishments. She did not call out though, nor did Darenel come rushing down those stairs with grand vows to turn aside his family’s wishes for Awenis’ sake. This was no fairytale, and there was no gallant rescue, only silence as the door shut behind them.

Awenis murmured something under her breath so softly that it escaped Jatheryn.

“What was that?” Jatheryn asked. He didn’t know what else to say.

Awenis turned away from the door. Holding up her hand, she slid the infinity ring off her finger.

“Perfect never lasts,” she repeated.

Stooping down, Awenis placed the ring right in the center of the front step. The sun couldn’t reach it there beneath the overhang, and its blue depths remained unseen as Awenis and Jatheryn walked away.

Awenis walked so fast back toward the Saurivic estate that Jatheryn had to rush to keep up with her.

“Awenis…Awenis, wait!”

He reached out to try and catch his sister’s arm. Awenis leveled a look of such wounded fury on Jatheryn that he nearly released her thin elbow. Rage like that seemed completely wrong on Awenis’s doll-like face.

“Jath, I need to know. I need to look into their eyes and hear it from their mouths. If our parents really believed us throwaways, then…” Awenis had to take a moment to compose herself, so great was her anger. “…then I can expect no kind of life for my child under their roof, if what Marielle said was true. Don’t you see? If our own mother and father have been watching and waiting, _planning_ for us to die all these years, you and I _have_ to know.”

Struck dumb, Jatheryn could only nod.

“Say something. Anything.”

It took several tries before Jatheryn’s voice caught with enough strength for him to trust his words. Even then, his heart was so dead in his breast that he wasn’t sure the words were even his own.

“I can’t believe it until I hear it from them, especially from Grandfather. Surely he at least must value our lives more than what Marielle suggested.”

Awenis’ shell-pink lips set in a grim, doubtful line. Taking Jatheryn’s hand in hers, she pulled him along.

“Come on.”

It was mid-morning when they returned to the Saurivic estate. Finding their parents was not hard; Jahaelis always went to work on his hobby of cartography every morning without fail, closing himself in his study. Rosarin meanwhile could always be found at the piano in the upper level parlor. Awenis blew through the parlor and the study like a hurricane, demanding tersely that they follow her. Rosarin’s parched mouth cracked open in an ‘O’ of surprise, and Jahaelis looked outraged at being addressed so disrespectfully. Both abandoned their projects to rush after Awenis and Jatheryn though.

Their final destination was the library of the Saurivic estate, where Lord Jalborn made his lair. Jalborn was comfortably reclined in an armchair reading _A Discourse on Obads and Amenthis_ when Awenis led their little parade into the library. Their grandfather looked up from his book and was about to greet them with a smile when he saw the look on Awenis’s face.

“What is this, Awenis, Jatheryn?” Jalborn snapped his book shut without even bothering to bookmark his place. “Why such an entrance?”

“There are many more ‘whys’ that could stand to be answered, Grandfather,” Awenis said. Rounding on Jahaelis and Rosarin, she spoke in a pained hiss. “In less than two years I will be of age, and yet never once has anyone in this house ever seriously spoken of a betrothal for me. Jatheryn has been of age since last winter, and only just now have you tried to find a match for him. Why?”

Jahaelis looked startled. Then he glowered at his daughter. “Awenis, mind your tone. What has brought on such urgency in this matter? Is this jealousy that perhaps now we have somewhat bigger problems to deal with than a betrothal for you?”

“You ignored my second question.” Awenis was not distracted by their father’s warning tone. “Why was a betrothal for Jatheryn never arranged before now? Boys and girls as young as thirteen are already paired off, why wait so long?”

“Because your brother was so shy, we knew it would be impossible to get him to actually speak to a girl until now,” Rosarin answered with a haughty look at Jatheryn.

“I am standing right here, Mother,” Jatheryn said. Awenis’s indignant anger was infectious. He could hear the resentment beneath the calm surface of his words.

“That’s not right,” Awenis was saying. “What does shyness have to do with it at all? Taevrin and Bythnaryn were betrothed without even speaking to each other beforehand. There is another reason, what is it?”

“What do you want us to say, Awenis?” Jahaelis growled. He loomed before them, putting on his best threatening demeanor. Such a display would have sent a ten-year-old Jatheryn or Awenis skittering for cover. There was too much rage and too much despair in both of them now for such things.

“Say what apparently all of Vaelona is already saying.” Awenis rounded on Jalborn. “Grandfather, its true, isn’t it; that betrothals weren’t made for Jatheryn and I because no one expected us to live this long? We’re the runts of a litter that no one planned on surviving, much less breeding.”

“Don’t say such things, such vile things! How dare you accuse us of things like that?” Rosarin screamed at Awenis.

“Grandfather?”

Jatheryn approached Jalborn and looked him straight in the eye with his dead, white gaze that made even the boldest of the nobility flinch.

“Grandfather, is it true?”

Jalborn matched Jatheryn’s stare for a long moment, then looked away.

The sky fell on Jatheryn’s shoulders in that instant. His heart may as well have stopped beating in his breast. Even the air in his lungs seemed to be sucked away.

“You are both completely out of line, you insolent, disrespectful little brats,” Jahaelis was saying. His words seemed muffled, far away. Jatheryn hardly heard them. “Get out, both of you. We will be having a discussion about this unacceptable behavior shortly, I promise you that.”

Awenis had sagged when Jalborn turned away. Drawing herself back up to full height now, she leveled a wordless gaze at Rosarin and Jahaelis that could have matched Marielle Tremaris for coldness. She turned on her heel and strode away with shoulders back and chin up.

Jatheryn did not look at either his father or his mother. Instead he looked to Jalborn’s still turned back. Words came to him then that poorly, but just adequately, managed to convey the depth of his heartbreak.

“We loved you.”

Silence followed Jatheryn out of the library as he made for the main stairs. The entire Saurivic household felt like it was consumed by a void. He passed Tyene on the stairs on his way up. For the first time he truly saw the appraising gleam in her eye.

“As much as I hate to disappoint you, Aunt, I am in excellent health,” Jatheryn said coolly.

Without waiting for Tyene’s reaction, Jatheryn climbed the remainder of the stairs. He considered going to his room, the one sanctuary he had ever known. Then he heard scuffling coming from Awenis’s room and changed course.

Jatheryn found his sister in the midst of a flurry of activity. Wardrobe doors were flung open, drawers pulled straight out onto the floor. On the bed a single plain bag sat surrounded by various small items and pieces of clothing, including Awenis’s one pair of sturdy, practical shoes.

“What are you doing?” Jatheryn asked, closing the door behind him.

Awenis barely even paused as she rolled a pair of woolen hose up into a tight barrel.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Now that I know how we’re really seen by everyone, including our own parents, I cannot stay here. Can you even imagine what would happen to my baby?” Awenis pressed a protective hand to her stomach. “More than likely Mother would make me drink mugwort or some other abortive herb. I’d sooner give birth in a ditch than here.”

The vehemence of Awenis’s declaration jolted Jatheryn’s shock addled brain back into some semblance of action. A thousand and one questions flew into his mind like a flock of panicked sparrows.

“Where will you go, Awenis? Do you even have any money?”

“Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous.” Awenis flung an embroidered coin purse into the bag; it landed with a full sounding clink. “As for where I’ll go, I know it cannot be anywhere large like Blue Stone or Amenthere. With my looks, I would be recognized in a heartbeat. I was thinking perhaps somewhere smaller like Geristan, or even the east from there.”

It didn’t take much consideration for Jatheryn to know what he himself would do. Without a doubt, he would not survive long in Vaelona without his one ally in life. So, everyone thought he and Awenis were weaklings, did they? How perfectly ironic it would be if he and Awenis, two ‘soft, sickly’ nobles struck out and made their own way in the world?

“I’m coming with you,” Jatheryn announced. “Give me a moment, I’ll have a bag together as quick as I can.”

Feet carrying him without conscious thought, Jatheryn moved about his room in what felt like a waking dream. He rifled through his clothes, snatching out a few items that looked the sturdiest and most non-descript. He selected his winter cloak from the back of the wardrobe; no doubt nights on the road would be cold.

So caught up was he in his hurried packing that he didn’t notice Awenis coming to lean on the doorway.

“Are you scared?”

Hearing his question from the night before echoed back at him, Jatheryn paused. Straightening from the mess he had created on his bed, he considered his sister before answering.

“No. Are you?”

Slowly but surely, Awenis smiled. It was very different from the carefree grins of Awenis’ girlhood; a girlhood that no doubt was over now. This smile was fierce.

“No.”

They left by way of Awenis’s window. Climbing down the tree was easy enough and even easier still for Awenis in a borrowed pair of Jatheryn’s pants. With the hoods of their heavy cloaks drawn up over their heads, the two of them went out into the streets of Vaelona for the last time. The midday sun was bright overhead, casting their faces into shadow within their cloaks. The occasional passerby cast a puzzled glance at them, but no one commented.

Gaining confidence with each step, they made their way down to the city gates. The Vaelonese guards on either side were more interested in their conversation than they were in the steady stream of civilians entering and leaving the city. When their boots hit the gravel of the open road for the first time, Jatheryn and Awenis paused. Then, clasping hands, the ghosts of Vaelona left their past lives behind.

* * *


	15. Allies and Strangers

* * *

What felt like hours - but was probably only minutes - passed as Vinie, Gideo, and Bakko sprinted along the back alleys of Moaan. Finally, when their legs would carry them no further, they paused, gasping for breath behind a stack of crates. The air was hot and stifling in the narrow alleyway. Vinie gulped down lungful after lungful of the heavy air, feeling rivulets of sweat plaster her clothes to her back, arms, and legs. They seemed to be doing a lot of running these days.

With a cough and a spit, Gideo regained enough breath to speak. He stood barely upright with his hands braced on his knees.

“Well, that went better than it could have.”

“And also worse,” Bakko wheezed, looking like he was about to pass out. The old pearl diver did in fact collapse to the ground. With a grimace of pain, he stuck his bad leg out in front of him and started massaging the spindly calf muscles. Vinie noted that his leg must be getting stronger if he could run even short distances on it. “If we weren’t wanted in Moaan before, you can bet your life we are now.”

Pushing her damp braid back over one shoulder, Vinie sent a chagrined half smile in her father’s direction. She decided not to let Bakko know that there was a rather large dock rat poking its nose out of the crate behind where he sat.

“It was only a matter of time anyways,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “Besides, you heard the magistrate; twenty-five lashes just for smoking sativa. Bury my bones if I was going to stand and watch _that_!”

“I’m not saying it was the wrong thing to do, just bloody brazen all the same,” Bakko replied. “It’s done now though, and we’re going to have to think of somewhere to hide out.” He jerked his chin toward the sunny main street where it beckoned at the end of the alley. “This quarter of Moaan is going to be overrun with soldiers for days.”

“We can’t go back to The Gull’s Nest, even if we had any money.” Gideo shed his sweat soaked vest and gave it a few shakes before shrugging back into it. “The innkeeper wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in the fight, so she’ll have enough trouble to manage without us around.”

Nadathan and Sula’s invitation from earlier came back to Vinie then, and she snapped her fingers.

“Yas, it’s our best bet,” she declared aloud to herself.

Both Gideo and Bakko looked at her with near identical expressions of confusion. Vinie didn’t imagine Gideo would appreciate being told that he resembled the wizened old Bakko in any capacity though.

“As much as I would like to agree, I don’t dare for fear of agreeing to storm the State Hall next,” Gideo chuckled nervously. “I’ll fish for your thoughts?”

“Sorry, I was thinking out loud. What I mean was that Sula and Nadathan told me where to find them before we escaped the square. They have a boat in The Serpent’s Tunnel too, and want to hear more about…well, about this idea for a new country.”

Bakko struggled to his feet. Gideo moved to offer him a hand up, but Bakko waved the help aside.

“This is, as they say, your mad fool adventure, Vinie. Lead the way, my pearl.” Then he frowned, the dim light of the alley making him squint. “What’s that?”

Following her father’s urgent pointing, Vinie looked down at herself. She stiffened with surprise to discover that the slickness on her forearms was not in fact sweat, but blood.

With shocking speed, Bakko was at her side, his knobby fingers gripping her wrists and turning her forearms upside. The sunlight from overhead barely reached down to where they stood between the buildings on either side. It was hard to see in the heady shadows, but Vinie thought the cuts crisscrossing her dark skin did not look so very deep.

“Here, sit down.”

Bakko’s tone would brook no protests, and Vinie did as she was told. The back of her legs hit a crate and she eased into a half-sit, half-stand.

“When did that happen?” Gideo asked, concern tightening his words.

“Probably when I tackled the magistrate; he had a knife.”

Vinie bit her lip when Bakko gently prodded at the edge of one slash. A line of blood promptly rose up and ran around her wrist, a single drop threatening to break loose and fall to the stones below.

“Gideo, let’s have your belt. These are still bleeding and need to be tied.” Any hint of fussiness and uncertainty was gone, replaced by the swift, assured father that Vinie remembered from her girlhood days when she had scraped her leg open on a sharp coral reef.

Without hesitation, Gideo undid the knot that kept his colorful woven belt tied around his waist. Using his teeth to make the first tear, he ripped it straight down the center into two thinner strips. These Bakko used to wrap several times around each of Vinie’s forearms. The sudden pressure stung, and Vinie had to bite down a hiss of pain.

“Now isn’t the time or place to worry about this,” Vinie ground out. “Baba, can you lead us back to The Serpent’s Tunnel from here?”

Bakko did not look happy about leaving Vinie to run around with bleeding wounds on her arms. Neither did he likely want them out in the open in Moaan any longer than they needed to be. Shaking his head, he adjusted the strips of scarf one more time before letting Vinie stand.

“Prison’s made you reckless, you know that?”

“I was always reckless.”

Gideo chortled. “She has you there, Bakko.”

Bakko gave Gideo and Vinie both a stern look. He started down the alley toward the street entrance nonetheless.

“Come on. The both of you may be old enough to have half-grown children of your own, but you’re still young hellions. Let’s see if we can make it to the harbor without anyone getting arrested or stabbed, yas?”

* * *

They had to be cautious, keeping their faces downturned and meandering rather than walking with purpose through the streets. It was hard, especially since every loud call or unusual noise set their hearts racing. Gideo’s height was far from helpful too; his distinctive mop of curly hair easily cleared the heads of most of the Moaanese in the crowd. He did his best to hunch his shoulders and walk stooped, but there was only so far he could carry that posture without looking equally unusual.

Bakko led them by the most direct route, straight back down to the harbor. The Bay of Torbos was clogged full of ships coming and going today. Vinie wondered how they didn’t become entangled in one another, or how a tiny skiff didn’t get broadsided by one of the large merchant cogs. Somehow the sea-faring traffic managed to conduct their suffocating dance without incident. Maneuvering in the Bay of Torbos was not for amateur mariners. 

The Serpent’s Tunnel was likewise crowded. The smell of many bodies all in one place mingled with sea salt was a pungent aroma, but Vinie was grateful for the cover the multitudes provided them with. Still following Bakko, they made their way down the long, covered walkway of the tunnel.

Finding the jaliboot Nadathan had spoken of proved to be harder than they expected. There must have been easily a hundred boats tied up on either side of The Serpent’s Tunnel. They passed their little dhow as they searched, and Gideo took a moment to check that everything was as they left it. Not that they had brought anything worth stealing with them on their sea voyage anyways. The small craft was dwarfed by the cutter it sat next to, but Vinie’s heart swelled affectionately at the sight of it anyways. She and Zaneo had built that dhow with their own four hands, and she would forever be grateful to Sahar for having kept it safe.

When finally they did find Nadathan and Sula’s jaliboot, it was at the very furthest end of the Serpent’s Tunnel on the side opposite to where Vinie, Bakko, and Gideo stood. As tempting as it was to just jump into the water and swim across the channel, the risk of being keelhauled by a passing boat was too high. They had to trek all the way back up one side of the tunnel and down the other.

“If they were any further away from dry land, they’d be outside the Bay of Torbos,” Gideo grumbled. 

“They’re also smart,” Bakko countered. “Who would ever come this far down the tunnel unless they had a boat tied up down here? This is as private a spot as you can get in a city like Moaan.”

The jaliboot’s high sides and narrow prow made the eastern boat look as slender as a knife. No doubt it could cut through water, and quick and quiet as a knife too. The green paint on the hull confirmed that this was the craft they sought. Vinie called out soft and low toward the cabin.

“Sula? Nadathan?”

At first there was no reply, only the gentle lapping of water on boat hulls. Vinie tried again, a tiny bit louder this time. There were other boat owners not too far away down the tunnel, and she dared not call too loudly. One more time she tried, this time as loudly as she would risk.

A door creaked, and someone stepped out from the jaliboot’s cabin onto the deck. The sun reflected off the sea, casting ribbons of pale light onto Sula’s face. She wore the same billowy tunic and cinched pants from their first meeting in the square, but also a woven headwrap that covered the top of her thick hair. Her eye was darkening from purple to black and nearly swollen shut.

“Come aboard, quickly.”

She waved them onto the deck. It was a hard step to clear the high sides of the jaliboot, and Vinie’s short legs almost didn’t make it. Gripping tightly for balance made her arms sing with pain. Now that she was aware of the cuts, they only seemed to become more insistent with each movement.

“You found us quickly,” Sula commented as she ushered them through the cabin door.

“In truth, we have few other places to go,” Gideo admitted, ducking to avoid smacking his head on the threshold. “The inn where we were staying is likely to be watched closely now.”

Sula turned up the wick on an oil lantern hanging from the rafters of the low ceiling. The space was small and smelled strongly of a spice Vinie didn’t know. There was a single bunk in one corner made up with woven blankets decorated in a brown and white geometric pattern. Nadathan lay stripped to the waist on his stomach, but propped himself up on his elbows when they entered. 

“You got away safely I see,” he said. “Luck was with us all today then.”

“Some more than others.” Sula tucked a leg under herself as she settled onto the narrow bunk beside Nadathan. Taking up a bloodied cloth and a small bottle of liquid, she dabbed at the two long red stripes that decorated Nadathan’s back. Nadathan’s sun-kissed shoulder twitched, but other than that he did not react. “There is water in the cask there, and some flatbread on the table. Please, eat and drink if you wish.”

Tentatively Gideo, Bakko, and Vinie arranged themselves around the table on benches that were so close to the cabin walls they could scarcely be pulled out. Gideo poured water into hollowed horns he found hanging from the rafters. A single sip reminded Vinie just how thirsty she was, and she drank deeply despite the strange smell the inside of the horn gave off. What kind of creature such a horn would have come from she couldn’t guess.

“Can I trouble you for a needle and thread, if you have them?” Bakko was speaking to Sula. “My daughter, her arms were cut up in the fight.”

Self-consciously, Vinie lowered her arms down into her lap beneath the table. Nadathan nodded toward a small cloth bag on a barrel next to the bunk. Sula dabbed once again at the whipping marks, and this time he did flinch. 

“In there. Sula, do you have extra salve too?”

“Yes, but only one bottle.”

Nadathan shifted, turning gingerly to look up at Sula over his shoulder. “Are we expecting many more injuries?”

“I should hope not, but all the same, I would ask that you use it sparingly.”

“I will, and thank you.” Bakko accepted a second bottle of the same liquid that Sula was using on Nadathan’s back. “Here, let me see those, Vinie.”

Vinie slowly placed her arms palms up on the time-smoothed tabletop. Bakko went to work untying the now ruined strips of scarf. As the fabric pulled away from her raw flesh, Vinie tried not to twitch and jerk. Cuts from coral were vicious, but these were deeper still, inflicted not by benign stone but by a keen blade in the hand of an attacker. They seemed not to be bleeding much when the last layer of wrap came away. Vinie was still taken aback and dismayed though to count not one but three and four slashes on each forearm.

Leaning over for a look in the lamplight, Gideo let out a low whistle. “I hate to give you bad news, PearlDiver, but those are going to scar for sure.”

“Forgive me for this, but I am thankful for both you and your scars,” Nadathan spoke up across the cabin. The muscles of his jaw were taught, but his flickering smile was warm. “If not for you and your friends today, I would have far worse to deal with etched into my own skin.”

Glad of any conversation to distract her as Bakko set to work cleaning up the bloody knife marks on her arms, Vinie returned a somewhat grimmer smile.

“I have seen what the law of Goran will do to those who get in its way. Believe me; I would have felt every single one of those lashes written into my soul if I had turned away.”

“You spoke to the people today of a different way,” Sula said. “Did you mean that?”

Vinie nodded, studiously looking away as Bakko tried to thread the needle.

“Yas, every word.”

Sula for some reason looked satisfied. She and Nadathan exchanged a glance, an entire unspoken conversation unfolding in the space of a blink.

“The reason I ask is because you are not the first person I have heard to speak of such things. Does that surprise you?”

“There are others who want the south to separate?” Vinie leaned forward on the bench so abruptly that she almost bumped her father. A sharp protest from Bakko reminded her that in a few minutes it would be most unwise for her to be jumping around.

“Well, not the south, exactly,” Nadathan said. “The east. Have you ever been beyond The Teeth?” When they all shook their heads, he continued. “If you had, you would know that things are very different where we come from. The laws, the customs, the way we dress, the foods we eat, very little resembles what we call West Goran. There are only two ways to get to the east from Amenthere; traverse the oft-blocked Old Mountain Road across The Teeth, or sail from Moaan all the way around the southern edge of Goran to Derbesh. As you can imagine, that means official representation from the capital is sparse in the east. There are so few magistrates with royal authorization, and even fewer that have not lived in the east for so long out of necessity that they prefer to turn a blind eye. Even if a magistrate were to get uppity and try to supersede clan law, the eimirs - our clan leaders - would pitch them so far out into the Hanara Desert they would forget what water even looked like before they died.”

“You mean you’re not governed by the crown?” Gideo sounded both stunned and thrilled. Then he noticed Bakko trying and failing miserably to thread the needle with his arthritic hands and frowned. “Here, Bakko, can I do that?”

Bakko sighed and handed over the needle and thread. Vinie let out a private sigh of relief when Gideo traded Bakko places on the bench next to her. With a quick motion, Gideo had the needle threaded. Bakko settled for sitting across from Vinie and placing a comforting foot atop of hers while Gideo started stitching.

Biting her tongue around her words, Vinie tore her attention away from what Gideo was doing to her forearms. She listened to Sula speak overtop of Gideo’s bent head. At least years of skin painting had made Gideo’s fingers unusually deft.

“No, on paper we are still very much a part of Goran. Amenthis’s counterpart, Anders U’Krell, was the one who led the clearing of the east, according to history, and so we belong to the nation of Amenthis’s heirs. However, Anders did name himself the first Wal of the East, and much of eastern governance was left to him by Amenthis. There has not been a wal for centuries now. In private and sometimes not-so-private conversations, the suggestion has been made for the east to declare ourselves independent and name a wal to govern us once again.”

Nadathan’s words sent unfiltered hope and relief flooding through Vinie. If others had said the same of the east, then maybe her dreams of southern independence were not so crazy after all. They might have allies in their quest for freedom, support from the east if they could only just convince the people to rise up with them. A particularly sharp stab from the needle barely dimmed the growing bubble of light in Vinie’s chest.

“And where do you two fit in to all that?” Bakko was asking Nadathan.

Rising, Sula patted Nadathan’s shoulder to free him from her ministrations. Moving slowly, he sat up and reached for a clean tunic spread across the pillow. Vinie could clearly see the angry red tracks across his back, stretching from hip to shoulder blade. It seemed a crime that anyone should have damaged such a well-formed person.

Sula went to a small port window and wrung her cloth out into the sea. “We are members of two different clans, Clan G’Hesh and N’Shar. Nadathan’s clan, N’Shar, is tentatively in favor of the becoming its own country. In fact, they have designs on the title of wal for one of their own, if such a thing ever came to pass. My clan, G’Hesh, not so much. Our eimir, Kirban, G’Hesh, has benefitted a little too much from good relations with Amenthere. Not to say that old Kirban wouldn’t be equally interested in the title of wal” she added darkly.

“But you personally believe in separation from Goran?” Vinie pressed.

“Yes, I do. After what’s been done to Nadathan today, and what Gorian law would have done further, how could I not?”

“Then maybe we could help each other.” Vinie barely felt the knitting together of her skin now. Gideo was so absorbed in his work that she did however feel his hot breath on her wrist. “We all want the same thing for our homelands.”

Sula chewed her lip. Little sun lines sprung up at the corners of her eyes, barely visible beneath the soot-black paint she had rimmed them with. Vinie guessed Sula to be close to her own age, if a year or two younger. 

“Maybe. Nadathan and I are strangers in Moaan, and now wanted strangers at that, so I don’t know how much help we could be. Still, you three are welcome to lay low here tonight. No sense spreading felons out in many different places to be found, hmm?”

“Thank you,” Bakko said fervently.

The moment Gideo was done stitching Vinie’s arms, Bakko leaned across the table to wipe away the blood and start wrapping her up with strips of clean linen given to him by Sula. Nadathan meanwhile went out onto the deck to check their mooring lines.

After sharing a brief meal of the eflatbread, a tasteless, if oddly filling morsel, they set about trying to make themselves comfortable in the jaliboot’s tiny cabin. Gideo and Nadathan rigged up the blanket from the bunk with rope to make something Sula called a “hammock”. It swung and creaked when Vinie tried to climb into it, but in the end, she managed the transition with Gideo holding one end. Sula and Nadathan slept in their bunk, and Bakko and Gideo laid out sacks of flour to sleep on the floor of the cabin. Vinie tried to brow-beat Bakko into trying to share the hammock with her, but Nadathan intervened, stating that a hammock would crush two people together so tightly neither would ever rest.

A great deal of tossing and turning kept everyone awake for an hour or two. It had been a very eventful day though, and one by one the five people in the cabin dropped off to sleep. Nadathan slept on his front with an arm slung over Sula’s chest. Gideo’s deep breathing threatened to transition into snores. Bakko lay curled only an arm’s length away from where Vinie swung in her hammock.

As for Vinie, she lay awake staring up into the darkness for some time more. The curve of the hammock was unusual beneath her spine, and the feeling of hanging in air felt even stranger. The itching of the stitches in her arms did nothing for comfort’s sake either. When finally, she did ease into sleep, she dozed fitfully, waking several times throughout the night.

* * *

Sunrise broke over the Bay of Torbos orange and early, heralded by the cries of over a hundred gulls. The sound of knocking brought Vinie back to full wakefulness. Had she really heard it, or was her tired mind playing tricks on her? It was still difficult sometimes to fully trust everything she heard and saw, especially after her vision in the sea spray on their way to Moaan.

Another knock echoed around the cabin, louder this time, and very close. Someone was standing on the deck of the jaliboot, literally outside the cabin door! Sula and Nadathan sat bolt upright, Nadathan keeping his arm in place in front of Sula while she retrieved her tunic from beside the bunk. Gideo and Bakko likewise were on their feet quick as a thought, Bakko’s joints protesting the whole way.

 _“We’ve been found,”_ Vinie mouthed at Sula. 

Her full lips set in a grim line; Sula nodded. Nobody made a sound, or even breathed when the knocking came again. With every round it grew sharper and more insistent.

“Nadathan N’Shar?”

A voice came through the thin wood door, but it was not what they were bracing for. This was the voice of a woman, one that almost could have been familiar.

Nadathan got to his feet and cautiously moved to approach the door. Gideo made as though to block him when he apparently remembered whose boat they were on. With his ear cocked to listen, Nadathan answered.

“Who’s asking?”

“Someone who seeks a new way.”

Everyone inside the cabin darted nervous glances around at one another. Sula nodded imperceptibly, and Nadathan opened the door.

Standing on the deck was the woman from the square the day before, the one in colorful silks and a flamboyant headwrap. She was somewhat less standout-ish today; her long robes and headwrap were of a moss green color tone with white spots. She was most certainly the same woman though. Her form was generously rounded, bringing to mind a mother who has birthed and carried multiple children to adulthood. She would most definitely have been an incredible beauty in her youth, and was still reasonably fetching on the verge of middle age. She wasn’t quite dark enough to be from Utunma, so Vinie figured she was likely Moaanese.

“Ah good, my directions were right then!” the woman exclaimed, her large, heavily lashed eyes brightening with pleasure. “May I come in?”

“Who are you, and how did you find us?” Nadathan demanded, standing across the doorway.

Vinie saw something glint in Sula’s hand and realized it was a small, highly curved dagger with barbs near the handle. It occurred to Vinie then that she, Bakko, and Gideo were completely unarmed, just as they had been in the square. In hindsight, what they had done yesterday was incredibly reckless without any weapons or ability to use them.

“My dear sativa smoker, I can find anyone I want in this city. Thank the luck that led me to you, actually. Now, where is the little Utunman woman with fire in her belly?”

“You’re looking for me, yas?” Vinie stepped around Gideo and into the light from the doorway. The sunlight made her squint, and she lifted a hand to shade her still sensitive eyes. 

“Oh, so you’ve already all found each other, even better!” the stranger exclaimed, clapping her round hands together. “That will make this all far easier, with no having to repeat myself.”

“I think you had better start making some sense, right now.” Sula stalked toward the woman in the doorway, making no effort to hide the knife she held. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

If she saw the knife the stranger was barely ruffled by it. If anything, she seemed more pleased than ever.

“My name is Kiiss ArtSeller, and I can confidently swear by the sea that your interests and mine are aligned. Now, will you please let me inside so my standing here on your deck doesn’t attract any unwanted attention?”

Without even waiting for a proper invitation, Kiiss ducked under Nadathan’s arm. Her presence took the small cabin from crowded to jam packed. 

“Now then, that’s better,” Kiiss said, plunking herself down onto a bench at the table. “Perhaps you had all best sit, yas? You look liable to fall down at any moment.”

It was true; expressions ranging from open fear to bewilderment tightened all their faces. Vinie was also curious. Eyes still on Kiiss, watching her every move, she sat down across the table. A moment later so did Nadathan and Bakko. Sula remained standing, arms folded with the curved knife glinting against her sleeve. Gideo likewise hovered against the wall, eyeing Kiiss like one would watch a landed shark.

“Would you prefer more detailed introductions, or shall we skip past that and go straight to business?” Kiiss asked pleasantly. She placed her hands palm down on the table, and more gemstones than Vinie had ever seen before in her life sparkled up at them.

“Both, but keep it to the facts and truths,” Vinie said.

“Of course. Now I know you, Nadathan N’Shar. Everyone who was in that square yesterday does, after all. I’m afraid I could use names for everyone else though. You’re from Utunma, yas?” She addressed Vinie.

Vinie nodded. “Yas.”

“And your name is?”

Bakko was squeezing Vinie’s knee beneath the table. Vinie didn’t trust this woman as far as she could throw her, but neither did she see any point in lying about her name. They might as well connect all the points on the map here.

“Vinie.”

Kiiss let silence linger a moment, hoping to get a trade name out of Vinie. When none was forthcoming she raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

“And judging from the way you’re hovering, my dear fellow, you must be some way related to this fiery orator. You are?”

“…Bakko.”

“Well Bakko, as you can see, I am hardly an armed brigade of guards. With how that one there is brandishing her knife at me, I suspect if things came to blows you all could handily kill me and feed my corpse to the fishes. You may as well relax; I can hardly do worse to you than hurl harsh language.”

“It’s not you we’re worried about; it’s whoever might be with you,” Gideo spoke up from against the back wall. 

“Now you are a handsome one, aren’t you?” Kiiss waved at Gideo with a coy wink. “How you can walk from one end of the street to the other without getting mobbed I can’t imagine. What do I call you, besides ‘Love’?”

Gideo’s eyes rolled so hard they almost fell out of his skull. “I’m Gideo, but call me ‘Love’ even once and you can add IdiotStrangler to my name.”

“And you would still be just as lovely even so. And you?” Kiiss’s demeanor cooled somewhat when she turned from Gideo to Sula. When she was met with stony silence Kiiss arched a painted eyebrow. Finally, Sula grumbled out; 

“Sula G’Hesh.”

“A G’Hesh and a N’Shar? Interesting-”

“Alright, enough about us.” Bakko waved a gnarled hand, cutting off further commentary from Kiiss. “Just who do you think you are, tracking us down all the way out here?”

Kiiss straightened her headwrap nonchalantly, taking her time in answering. This woman set Vinie’s teeth on edge, but she also had to admit it was rather interesting that a lone, unarmed person would dare to walk into a room full of edgy strangers and leave them hanging on each word.

“I, dear Bakko, am an art merchant. I travel amongst the highest classes in all the towns and cities of Goran for the purchasing and selling of beauty. If there is aesthetic appeal to something, I will find it and I will find a buyer for it. Business is often good, as you can see.” Kiiss flashed her rings at them once again. “However, it could be even better. If there’s one thing we high class merchants love, it’s opportunity. That is why your talk of a new country appeals to me so much.”

Vinie was confused, to say the least. A quick glance at Gideo confirmed that he, likewise, had no idea where Kiiss was going with this. Nadathan and Sula seemed dubious as well. Only Bakko showed any glimmer of understanding.

“You think you could make a new country profitable?” he asked. “How, exactly?”

“Tariffs, my good man, tariffs! You don’t know what those are? Neither does anyone else who doesn’t study theoretical economics. I’ll tell you then. If a new country separate from Goran were to be created, then hypothetically that new country could trade with Goran. The two would have their own markets and economies, which of course they would want to strengthen by encouraging their citizens to buy at home. But suppose someone from Goran wants to buy something that can only be found in the new country? Well then, that something would have to be brought across the border, or _imported_. To do that though, the buyer would also have to pay a tax on whatever they’re importing. Which means extra money for the people in charge, as well as extra money for the merchants who arranged the sale. So, you see, it is in my very genuine interests to try to get this idea of a new country from a rum dream to a reality.”

“It isn’t a rum dream!” Vinie protested. “I spent years in prison arriving at this idea.”

“I’m sure you did.” Kiiss didn’t sound convinced. “However you got the idea, I like it, and I am here to offer you access to my network of resources.”

To say that Vinie was stunned would have been an understatement. Such an offer should have had her prancing about, whooping with glee. There was something about Kiiss that she didn’t trust though. Apparently, she wasn’t alone in that sentiment either. Neither Nadathan nor Sula jumped to accept Kiiss’s offer of assistance. Bakko sat sucking on his teeth, his graying eyebrows pressed together.

“Can you give us a moment to talk this over?” Nadathan asked. When Kiiss nodded but didn’t budge, he added, “A moment alone?”

“Oh, very well, but remember that there are eyes besides the ones I own in Moaan. Don’t leave me waiting outside for too long!”

With a rustle of moss green draperies, Kiiss got up and showed herself out of the cabin. Sula followed her and locked the door anyways for good measure. Only when the self-professed art merchant was out of sight did everyone let out a breath.

“I say we sail her out into the middle of the sea and throw her overboard!” Gideo exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “We heard it from her own mouth; her only interests here are her own.”

“Yes, but that might also mean she’d be personally invested enough not to double-cross us,” Nadathan pointed out. He stretched carefully, lifting the fabric of his tunic away from his raw back.

“Nadathan, we’ve known people like this Kiiss before in Derbesh.” Sula shook her head. “Even if she doesn’t betray us, she will desert us if things don’t go exactly how she expects them to.”

“Fine, then she deserts us,” Vinie interjected. “We don’t need to put all our pearls in her basket. We do need some help getting started at least though. How else are we going to challenge a dynasty, without money or connections?”

“We have money and connections in the east,” Sula protested.

“You mean the N’Shar clan does.” Nadathan shrugged apologetically at Sula. “Your guess is as good as mine whether my uncle would be willing to forgive and forget our last encounter. Even if he would, asking him to go public against Amenthere may be too much.”

“It’s no less than what you two are doing,” Vinie said. “Your names are going to be just as black as ours if you stick with this any further.”

“We’re already stuck in this. You did after all use me as something of a bloody pennant in your call to arms yesterday,” Nadathan pointed out. There was no resentment in his voice, but Vinie felt guilty regardless.

Gideo called on Bakko, where the older man was sitting quietly at the table.

“Bakko, you know more of the world and the people in it than Vinie or I. What do you think?”

Bakko shifted, his spine letting out a ripe pop, then he cleared his throat. Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak, and twice stopped himself. Everyone else in the cabin waited on their resident elder to deliver his thoughts on the matter.

“I have also known women like Kiiss, and I agree that her motivations aren’t the greater good. She has however shared her motives with us, which means she’s given us a chance to predict her. I’d say that is as much a gesture of good faith as we’re ever going to get from a profiteer.”

Gideo sighed. “I trust you Bakko, so I’ll go with whatever you suggest. If she calls me ‘Love’ so much as once though…”

“You could always get someone to break your nose and free you from the apparent curse of your good looks,” Sula suggested with a sarcastic nudge to Nadathan’s arm. “Nadathan can do it, if you agree not to hit back.”

“I am not going to hit him, Sula,” Nadathan said mildly. “Break his nose yourself.”

“I’d rather nobody broke my nose, actually.”

“That’s good!” Kiiss’s voice sounded out muffled through the cabin door. “Your little band of traitors to the crown is going to need every resource you can get moving forward, and a face like _that_ is worth its weight in sols!”

“Stop eavesdropping!” Sula bellowed at the door.

Vinie couldn’t help laughing a little bit. “Let’s let her back in. If everyone is agreed, we’ll tell Kiiss we accept her offer.”

“Luck be with us,” Nadathan groaned.

* * *


End file.
